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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
Shelf ..-A<:^..f ^'^ 



UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. 



BELLES AND BEAUX, 



WITH OTHER POEMS. 



/ 
Laura M. Colvin. 




ROCHESTER, N. Y.: 

CHARLES MANN, 73 MEIGS STREET. 

1883. 



7^ /^^ 

{. v"" 



Copyright, 1882, 
By LAURA M. COLVIN. 



From the press of Charles Mann, 

Rochester, N. Y. 



Mrs. olive GOODRICH, 

THESE roEMS ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 
BV THE AUTHOR. 



INDEX. 

Belles and Beaux i 

Venus and Vulcan 45 

Heavenly Mansions 50 

A H ome Song 54 

A Mirthful Book 56 

Winter 58 

The Blue Violet 61 

The Midnight Lamp 63 

The Old Man 66 

At Rest 68 

The Death of the Prince Imperial 71 

The Beechen Woods 74 

Years After 78 

A Cup of Tea 81 

A Cup of Coffee 85 

To-morrow 87 

Charlotte Bronte 89 

The Wax Figure in a Broadway Window.. 90 

Thanksgiving of the Iroquois lOO 

Esthetic Verse 104 



INDEX. 

Two Authors — Longfellow-Dickens 105 

The Newspaper 107 

Four Queens 109 

Going Home 113 

Our Teacher 117 

War 119 

Lips Now Dust 121 

Far and Near 1 24 

A Summer Idyl 127 

Out in the Rain 131 

Larkspur Rings 135 

Memories 1 39 

The Fairy Talisman; or, Hammered Heads.. 141 

The Birds Have Come Again 146 

Linen-Spinning Days 148 

The Gypseys' Home 153 

Unlucky Words.. . 157 

The Serenade 1 59 

At the Grand Hotel ... 264 

The Horse-Shoe 167 

Dressed for the Ball 171 

Clematis and Apricots 173 

The Bachelor Button 176 

May Day 1 77 

A Plaque 183 

The Wooden Hill 185 



INDEX. 

The Butterfly i88 

The Tulip 1 89 

Time of Day 191 

Virginia 202 

The Violin 204 

The Farm-house Gate 208 

The Singer of One Song 213 

The Hunted Deer 215 

Fasting 217 

The Little Cousin 220 

My Mother 222 

Transcendent 223 

Red Roses 224 

The Battlemented House 225 

Rosemary 229 

Lulu and Will 232 

Cloud-land 233 

Tick Tack 235 

Peacocks and Lilies 237 

The Loom 239 

Old-fashioned Flowers 241 

Gold 244 

The Tree 247 

Venice 248 

Moth and Flame 249 

Gold, Marble, Purple 250 



INDEX. 

White Satin 251 

The Golden Violet 252 

Adolphine 253 

Appreciation 254 

The Two Builders 255 

Ghosts of the Gothic Hall 257 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 

AH, Belles and Beaux — a. pleasing theme, if 
spoiled not in m}^ rhymes — 
'Tis one j'oung people hav'e discussed how many, 

many times ; 
And given as a zest to all the chit-chat of the day 
About the ball and masquerade, the matinee or play. 
By Belles and Beaux are meant all those unwedded, 

gay and young ; 
Of such as lovers, all the Bards, time out of 

mind, have sung ; 
Of such the Novelist must write on his enchanting 

page, 
For such, for these have loved Romance in every 

clime and age. 



2 BELLES AM) BEAUX. 

All Lexicons define a Belle — a service undesired, 
Of course a Belle is beautiful, and gay, and much 

admired, 
And triumphs o'er all rivalship, she, the resplendent 

one ; 
There are more lovers in her train than planets 

'round the sun ! 
She's more bouquets and serenades than other 

girls can boast ; 
When glasses clink around the board, she is the 

ruling toast ; 
Oft at assemblies she is seen — all praise her wit 

and grace, 
O, how much sovereignty is in that small domain — 

her face ! 

A Beau — though cjuite superfluous its meaning to 

explain — 
Especially to pretty girls of many conquests vain — 
A beau is one who studies dress and manners with 

a care 
Of being pleasing to the sight of every lady fair ; 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 3 

He says or looks more flattering things than he 

can quite beheve, 
And never seems to know when one is lauohine 

in her sleeve ; 
For ladies he's the first to rise in crowded hall 

or stage, 
Though never thanked — such chivalry transcends 

the feudal agre I 



Of all the Beaux young ladies like their beau-ideal 

best ! 
He's handsomer, and wittier, and nobler than the 

rest ; 
He talks in such a lofty strain, has such a prince!}- 

mien, 
The Romeo of Juliet when she is sweet sixteen. 
Like Capulet and Montague, time and experience 

prove 
Most stern to youth's ideals and those fancies 

called first love, 



4 BELLES AND BEAUX, 

That fill the heart with jealousies, conflicting- hopes 

and fears, 
And yet but furnish food for Mirth, reviewed in 

after years. 



Adonis was not handsomer. Narcissus not more 

vain 
Than our exquisite who so needs a little more 

of brain ! 
He thinks all hearts must sigh for him — pities the 

pretty dears ! 
O Vanity I that dotage that is common to all 

years ! 
Ah, whoso farcies such a flat must plead that 

Lo\^e is blind — 
How oft an ill-assot;ted pair the chains of wedlock 

bind. 
To whom the name of home becomes the saddest 

word, perforce, 
Whose love endureth //(:V"till death," — but endeth 

in divorce ! 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 5 

Much intellect some men assert women should 

ne'er possess ; 
"A wile that knows more than myself, I'll not 

have," they confess. 
There's many a believer in this creed of olden 

schools, 
For Providence has planned that such must marry 

off the fools ! 
Ah, here's the little angel to beam upon their 

way, 
What soft \\'ords simper fram her lips, round which 

the dimples play ; 
How sweetly-blooming is her cheek, how sparkling 

is her eye, 
She's pretty — so's a humming-bird, so is a but- 
terfly ! 



The ardent jealous lover cries, " Thou idol of my 

heart, 
Would thou wert veiled from others' gaze, shrined 

from the world apart I" 



6 BELLES \K1) BEAUX. 

He who is woman's abject slave while hours of 

courtship last, 
Proves the domestic tyrant when the honeymoon 

is past ! 
His wife must no opinions hold that differ from 

his own ; 
Poor thini^! she'll learn to watch his voice and 

tremble at its tone. 
He means to be her master, thoui^h he's snatched 

to Death's domains. 
And grants her dower only while his widow she 

remains ! 



How sweet the Zephyr's whisperings throughout 

the summer hours, 
And who that saw the gentle sprite, all garlanded 

with flowers, 
Would know it as the winter wind which desolates 

our path. 
When snarling, scolding, storming, and delirious in 

wrath ! 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 7 

So she whose voice Cordeha-Hke is ever sweet and 
low, 

Whose looks wear Heaven's kindness in the presence 
of her beau, 

May change to one whose greatest joy is in con- 
tentious strife, 

To one who'll be a martyrdom to him who calls 
her wife I 



The scourge can leave its livid mark, and scorpions 

have their stings, 
A revolver and a bowie-knife are rather dangerous 

things ; 
A poisoned arrow never fails by savage archer 

flung. 
Yet none of these more torture wield than can a 

vixen's tongue ! 
'Neath shrewish rale man scarcely knows what 

sentiments to wear. 
Perplexed as any aspirant for Presidential chair! 



8 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

What can the poor soul think of those who 

Woman's Rights advance ! 
When even now his better-half can crush him with 

a iilance ! 



Safer to take Van Amburg's risk, yourself and 

lions caged. 
Than 'tis to hint the loved one's faults to those 

who are engaged. 
Say not 'tis but a mortal wears the halo of his 

dreams ; 
Do not asperse a gentleman who such ' perfection 

seems. 
To make or break a match requires a great degree 

of skill, 
The "old folks" learn this when they find advice 

is taken ill ; 
None oft to other's love afTairs, save gossips, dare 

allude, 
Sorry I've spoken ; Like Paul Pry, " I hope I don't 

intrude !" 



BELLES AND HEAUX. 9 

All "fuss and feathers" is the hen that spreads a 

sheltering wing 
For her young brood — ineiegant comparison I 

bring — 
All fluttter and all fashion are the anxious dames 

be sure 
Who would for all their daughters rich establish- 
ments secure, 
The bride of diamond wedding is al\va}'s envied 

so ! 
The course of love for millionaires runs smooth 

enough, I trow ; 
Papa is very complaisant, mamma is very bland. 
And " Barkis is so willin' "' to accept his heart 

and hand ! 



Though beautiful, accomplished belles their fasci- 
nations tr}' 

At catching fortunes, the\' should learn much- 
hunted game is shy ; 



lO BELLES AND BEAUX. 

The wolves and bears are doubly wild when they're 

for bounty sought, 
The frightened birds the fowler finds have set his 

toils at naught. 
Be subtle as the step that steals where partridges 

up-spring, 
Adroit as marksman that has hit the bird upon 

the wing, 
Intent on angling as are those who Izaak Walton 

praise. 
Yet may your goldfish glide away just glimmering 

to your gaze ! 



To speak the language of the world, a girl has 
married well — 

So well that Mammon's worshippers on her good 
fortune dwell — 

When she has gained a house in town with luxury 
replete, 

Troops of servants, a fine carriage, a lovely country- 
seat. 



BELLES AND BEAUX. II 

Ay, though her wedded lord is known in business 

mart to be 
Base as bhick-bannered pirate, who with terror 

thrills the sea ! 
Though he has brimmed the wine-cup till the 

demons round him rave ! 
Or though with eye that's bleared with age he 

stumbles on the erave ! 



Though miser — at the altar who will grudge the 

marriage-fee ! 
Though spendthrift, who his garnered gold like 

prisoned bird sets free ! 
Though one she'll sadly contrast with some suitor 

unforgot, 
Whose love she'll sometimes dare to think would 

bless an humbler lot ! 
A never-ceasing discontent gives her the brow of 

care, 
Makes cross-lights for the pictures, tarnishes the 

gildings rare. 



12 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

Like mildew taints the fairest tints, like moth 

devours by stealth, 
How better far is poverty than such ill-fated 

wealth ! 



Of all whom we compassionate, the most ill-starred 

are they 
That marrying for money find but bankruptcy 

some day ; 
For " richer or for poorer " they have sworn it to 

their grief, 
There should be some society got up for their 

relief ! 
Through speculation, fire, and flood, shall riches 

find their wings, 
Strong w ill and tireless energy ma\^ gain the power 

of kings ! 
To wed the wealth that's most secure experience 

doth find, 
'Tis best to choose that glorious wealth which 

dowers both heart and mind ! 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 1 3 

Flirtation is a game of chess that checkmates hearts 
with skill ; 

Flirtation — scribbling" moralists delight to speak 
it ill; 

They say that disappointed hopes deplore its dan- 
gerous wiles — 

Its flattering words, its honeyed tones, its fascinat- 
ing smiles. 

It ma}' be reprehensible, yet everybody knows 

It can't go out of fashion, quite, among the belles 
and beaux. 

It fills the pauses of the dance, it shortens moon- 
light walks, 

And at each little sociable, bewitching nonsense 
talks ! 



" She's such a flirt !" A serious charge, which 
envious tongues enhance, 

Till one might think that scalping-knives glim- 
mered in Beaut\''s glance ; 



[4 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

Well, if she flirts, 'tis only with a hated rival's 

beau. 
Or when she finds that she can plague a careless 

lover so. 
But the male flirt no censure meets, although his 

fancy goes 
From face to face, with winning words that wait 

not to propose ; 
Like the duck-shooting Irishman, he can't secure 

the game. 
Because another bird will sail between him and 

his aim ! 



Some ugly men, in ladies' eyes, have gained a 

world of grace ; 
Wilkes said it took but half an hour to talk 

away his face ; 
But our old bachelor's ill looks no talk could 

help, I know ; 
He was mamma's sweet darling once — but that 

was long ago ! 



EELLES AND BEAUX. I5 

Too cross, too crabbed, and too plain to hope 

for woman's lo\^e, 
He never wrote a billet-doux, nor kissed a daintx' 

glove ; 
*' In all that sort of foolishness", he says he took 

no part. 
Ah, no ! he never trifled with a fond and trusting 

heart ! 



One's maiden aunt — proper and prim, sour-visaged. 
sharp of tongue, 

She had no offers, no good looks in years when 
she was young ; 

The man who takes the census wakes her bitter- 
ness and rage. 

Because he makes a certainty of her uncertain 
age. 

She boasts her heart invulnerable, as if in armor 

' mailed. 

Yes, any fortress stands secure that never is 
assailed ! 



1 6 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

She loves strong tea, in scandal she is one of 

the experts, 
And we believe her when she says, " She never, 

never flirts " ! 



Oh, say, did ever siren's charm as by the ancients 

sung. 
Surpass the fascination of a widow, fair and 

)'Oung? 
Not bashful she, nor over-bold, but calm and self- 
possessed ; 
She knows, of all accomplishments, the art to please 

is best. 
A gracious mien, and taste in dress, add to her 

winning ways. 
Society accords to her its welcome, and its praise. 
She says she'll make no second choice — We're not 

astonished when 
We hear some day that she has donned the bridal 

robe aeain. 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 1 7 

A widower, and one that's rich, ah, isn't he a 
prize ? 

The fortune-hunters watch for him with mercenary 
eyes. 

Though he be old, oft blooming youth devotes to 
him her life, 

Though bald and wrinkled he can win a beautiful 
young wife ; 

Though he's uncultured he can wed accomplish- 
ments most rare. 

For he has wealth and luxury, and tempting is 
their glare. 

The complaisant old widower, a suitor, spruce and 

gay. 

Seems twice the fool he was in youth, in court- 
ship's early day. 



Love is the theme which poets choose in most 
inspiring hour. 

They sing about it as the bees round some sweet- 
breathing flower ; 



1 8 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

And yet howe'er his wondrous way their gifted 
volumes speak, 

Love's best biography is read upon the bkishing 
cheek ! 

Young Love doth see the earth so fair he scarce 
for Eden grieves; 

For him the Moon with full-orbed light looks shim- 
mering through the leaves, 

For him each star, from sphere afar, shines with 
serenest ray. 

For him the flowers grow voluable and messages 
convey ! 



Love never notes old gray-beard Time, with hour- 
glass in his hand. 

He's too much rapt in his bright dreams, to watch 
the slipping sand ; 

Whether he's housed in hall or cot, but little will 
he care, 

Where is the difference, while he builds such castles 
in the air ? 



BELLES AND BEAUX. I 9 

O, Love can make the humblest swain seem to 

his chosen one 
As great a hero as the man who high renown has 

won ! 
O Love, thou great enchanter, still dost thou 

young hearts await ? 
O, thou shalt prove invincible, and they shall call 

thee, Fate ! 



Lo ! the enamored gaze doth make the one be- 
loved so fair ; 

It looks an homage coquetry shall not refuse to 
share ; 

More loyal than the servitors on royalty who 
wait. 

It sees a splendor in one smile beyond the kingly 
state. 

Thus Pride and Rank shall stoop themselves to 
those of humbler birth ; 

Once angels left their heaven to wed the daughters 
of the earth ; 



20 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

From Notre Dame Eugenie went in regal robes 
arrayed ; 

Ere this, the King Cophetua had loved the beggar- 
maid ! 



How blest is she whose image haunts the gifted 

painter's dreams ; 
Her face, which Love has given to Fame, upon 

the canvas gleams ! 
To her, in proud cathedrals, crowds of worshipers 

shall bow. 
Because her loveliness looks down from the Ma- 
donna's brow ! 
And still more blest is she who wins the poet's 

raptured strain. 
She's crowned and sceptered to the world, and 

long shall be her reign ! 
Though royal Mary Stewart oft was Scotland's 

Mary called, 
Our Scotland's Mary, Burns doth sing, by Highland 

lass enthralled ! 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 21 

I said that Youth had loved Romance in every 

chme and age, 
And beautiful its visions are upon the glowing 

page ; 
Though picturing oft realities that make the world's 

employ, 
As Helen in bright tapestry enwrought the siege 

of Troy. 
Who would forget the golden hours Romance hath 

often lent, 
When we with book in fireside nook the winter 

evening spent ! 
Or read all day while 'gainst the pane there roared 

November's gales. 
Though we seemed looking out upon rose-flushed, 

Cashmerian vales. 



Romance steals from the school-girl's time, telline 

tales out of school. 
Until the vexed Preceptress scarce can keep her 

temper cool-; 



22 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

It makes the music-lessons dull, and laughs to hear 
the cry, 

"Come, come, do go and practice now!" "Yes, 
mother, by-and-by." 

The student reads, and learns how Law a declara- 
tion files. 

Some declaration in Romance meantime provokes 
his smiles; 

The Farmer's lad with plow shall drive across the 
stubborn soil. 

And Falstaff, known from acted play, shall charm 
the hour of toil. 



The Tourist from the harbor sails to brave the 

stormy tide, 
Romance a fairy shallop is, in which we safely 

ride ; 
Though steamships and aerial cars be to perfection 

brought. 
Where is the motive-power that speeds so swiftly 

as a thought ! 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 23 

We're there upon a distant shore the instant we 

leave home, 
And lightly as the thistle-down where'er we wish 

we roam ; 
We never grumble at our guides and call their 

charges dear, 
We care not if the inns are bad, we do not need 

their cheer. 



We do not see the crumbling walls and battlements 
o'erthrown, 

The weed-choked court and casement all with ivy 
overgrown 

Of ancient castles, but for us the}' keep their olden 
pride, 

And 'neath their frowning portal arch the steel- 
clad warriors glide ! 

Brave knights and high-born ladies meet around 
the banquet board. 

The Minstrel's song flows like the wine from silver 
flagons poured ; 



24 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

We mark what praise Crusader wins for deeds of 

high emprise, 
The jests, the low-breathed compHments, the fondly- 

smihng eyes. 



Lo, Hunters, in gay hunting-suits, follow the hounds 

away ; 
Leaping the hedge, spurring along, blithe as the 

morning ray. 
The red deer from the oak's brown shade their 

antlers toss with scorn, 
Wlien echoes faintly on the breeze the mellow 

bugle-horn. 
O'er velvet turf, by rustling bough, there sweeps 

a courtly train. 
We hear the jingling silver bells upon the bridle 

rein. 
And the old sport of Falconry revives again, 

I wist, 
And hooded hawk sits perched upon each lord and 

lady's wrist. 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 25 

We join the rustics in the dance upon the village 

green, 
And with her coronal of flowers we see the fair 

May Queen ; 
The May-pole is with streamers hung, the lasses 

have their hair 
Braided with ribbons, \\hich their swains bought 

for them at the Fair. 
We joy to see their faces glow with revelry and 

mirth, 
Contentment glads their humble lot as spring-time 

does the earth ; 
And pleasant are their lanes and fields, and sweet 

the hawthorn's bloom. 
And pleasant e'en the lonely moors where grows 

the yellow broom. 

Flitting from Albion we hie to Scotia's heathery 

braes, 
The " Wizard of the North " invokes the scenes 

of other days — 



26 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

O'er Katrine's limpid wave again doth glide fair 
Ellen's boat, 

And clans are gathering for the strife — we see their 
banners float 

O'er plumed bonnet, tartan plaid — and how their 
war-cry thrills ! 

For border warfare they have come from solitary 
hills. 

We view the Highlands they have left, their flocks 
and shielings there, 

And mountain fastness where shall rise the Cove- 
nanter's prayer. 

Loving its legendary lore we sail along the 

Rhine, 
We rove along the south of France empurpled by 

the vine. 
And share the vintage festival, we wander off 

again, 
And hear the tinkling of guitars 'neath balconies 

in Spain. 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 2/ 

By grim Venetian palaces our gondola then 

flies, 
Where victims of Tribunals dead pass o'er the 

Bridge of Sighs, 
We see the old-time revelers in each deserted 

hall. 
The faded hangings glow afresh — just mouldering 

on the wall ! 



Then Fancy, tireless pilgrim, wends her way to 

ancient Rome, 
To shrines of marble deities — to many a mighty 

dome ; 
And Orator of deathless fame, in voice persuasive, 

calls 
A vast, admiring multitude within the Forum's 

walls. 
We see the victor's laurel wreath, gained in the 

chariot race ; 
In crowded amphitheatre, we watch each eager 

face 



28 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

Glare on the Gladiator's wounds, from which the 

hfe-blood flows, 
A fiendish pastime — yet it charmed the Roman 

belles and beaux. 



We may not with time-wasting words track all the 

paths we roam ; 
The palace and the peasant's hut alike have made 

our home. 
From Rank and Fashion in the towns, we stray 

to lonely dales. 
Where rural maids and Corydons recall Arcadia's 

vales. 
The terraced walk, the velvet lawn, our careless 

step hath pressed, 
And breezy common, when the clouds, like fagots, 

blazed the West ; 
W' e loiter by the coppice, where the curling smoke 

aspires, 
That shows where Gipsies pitch their tents, and 

lisrht their hearthless fires. 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 29 

In nov^els i^ipsx' Carls and Queens have found a 

welcome place — 
Poring upon the open palm, its nn'stic lines to 

trace, 
Methinks the dark-browed Sib}'l stands, clutching 

her bribe of gold, 
We'd freely give her our last coin to have our 

fortune told ! 
Let eager eyes see in what guise the Future shall 

appear ; 
Tliere's wealth to deck with costly gems, and buy 

us silken gear ; 
There's years to spend in foreign lands — a pleasant 

thought to )'outh — 
And hosts of lovers — flattering dream to Vanity, 

forsooth ! 



Astrologers, in ages past, could destinies reveal, 
As midnight skies outspread their scroll, each star 
a' golden seal ; 



50 BELLES AXr> BEAUX. 

I 

Out on their occult science, when some old dame 
eh'inkini;' tea 

Can turn the cup and tell us all that is, or is 
to be ! 

Or deemin;;- life a simple game, like whist or 
euchre pla}-ed. 

She'll weigh it 'gainst a heart, or club, or diamond, 
or a spade. 

Her shrewd predictions often with }our inclina- 
tions jump. 

So good her guessing that she proves herself a 
perfect trump ! 



We could not speak of Belles and Beai.ix, in their 

attire so g"a\'. 
Without a passing" word or so of Fashion's might}' 

swa\' ; 
For Fashion rules each village dance as well as 

stately hall. 
Where belles of our Republic meet to grace the 

brilliant ball. 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 3 1 

Yes, Fasliion will assert her power, although the 

Cynics frown ; 
It makes the damsel proud to wear her last new 

hat or gown ; 
It makes the Chinese lady pinch her foot in tiny 

shoe, 
And makes each gentleman desire to dress as 

others dol 



Since that sad hour when Eden's gate was barred 

by flaming brand, 
And Eve and Adam wandered forth to toil, and 

till the land, 
For food and raiment have we sought, through 

all the earth's broad plains, 
And food and raiment make the plea for all our 

golden gains ; 
So delving for the earth's full store for many a 

weary tla}'. 
The board gets spread with viands rare, we walk 

in rich array, 



32 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

And Fashion hath licr votaries, whom mother Eve 

to bless, 
Opened her eyes, and stitched the leaf, and gave 

the charm of dress ! 



Inventors, taxing weary brains, striving the world 

to bless, 
Have \\-rouglit improvements in the tints and 

texture of our dress ; 
And men of capital have built the looms that go 

by steam, 
Whose plan in b}'-gone }'ears had seemed as idle 

as a dream. 
Machiner)-, with unresisting arm, a Wizard's power 

can wield, 
It gives fair dames as rich attire as lilies of the 

f^eld. 
Behold upon the ocean's blue how many white 

sails swell. 
They're bringing in the wardrobes of each fashion- 
able Belle! 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 33 

Upon the pathways of the hills the shepherd 

guides his flock, 
Or sees the lambs about him pla\', from some 

gray, moss-grown rock ; 
Above, in fields of summer blue, the clouds repose 

in peace, 
Around, in fields of living green, he counts the 

snowy fleece, 
The snowy fleece that busy hands shall change 

to garments warm. 
The mantle or the Highland plaid to shield from 

drivdng storm ; 
The broadcloth coat, the bright-hued dress, howe'er 

the thread may twine, 
The skeins of zephyr wrought in flowers where 

jeweled fingers shine. 

From mulberr}' leaf the silk-worm spins her shroud, 

the bright cocoon, 
That shroud, to shining satin changed, shall grace 

the gay saloon. 



34 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

Shall drape the lofty casement in many a massive 
fold, 

Or make a robe for Royalty, enriched with gems 
and gold. 

Shall freight rich ships for distant seas in traffic 
round the world, 

Or in a nation's banner all proudly be un- 
furled. 

Shall make a ministerial robe, or mist-like bridal 
veil, 

Or shine within the needle's eye, stitched by a 
seamstress pale. 



Each country school-girl will recall the mittens 
soft and warm. 

The mother knit to shield dear hands from Win- 
ter's frost and storm ; 

In later years the blushing lass thinks only gloves 
will do, 

Since many a devoted swain she's given the mit- 
ten to ! 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 35 

And compliments, and moonlight walks, smiles, 
blushes, courtship's hours. 

Are but the [)rclude to white gloves, and garlands 
of white flowers ; 

The bridegroom with his chosen one before the 
altar stands, 

And listening unto solemn words they clasp white- 
kidded hands ! 



The Rose, who is the Queen o'er all of Flora's 
fair domain, 

In one old-fashioned velvet robe is clad through- 
out her reign ; 

What would a belle at Newport or at Saratoga 
say, 

If, like the flower, she'd but one dress to wear 
day after day ? 

If each fine lady like the flow^ers had no afTected 
grace. 

How willingly would all admire her costume or 
her face ! 



36 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

The haughty belle on common folks so insolently 

stares, 
She puts on jewels, and fine dress, and then she 

puts on airs! 



Sweeping the Century aside, a vision we dis- 
close, 
And in their social circles see New England's 

Belles and Beaux ; 
There's nothing ghostly in their looks, revisiting 

the earth, 
Their faces glow with ruddy health, their voices 

ring with mirth ! 
In their now-antiquated garb behold the youthful 

throng. 
As in their places in the Past again they glide 

along ! 
Their cottage-homes are rudely reared beside the 

rocks and rills. 
For luxury is little known in their secluded 

hills. 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 37 

Hiirk to the sleigh bells hurried chimes ! ex- 
hilarating sound ! 
What happiness in those swift sleighs that skim 

along the ground ! 
And make the snow-drifts, gleaming bright, glide 

back on either hand, 
Carved by the wind in grander line than sculptor 

ever planned ! 
Gay parties for the singing'-school are riding forth 

to-night, 
For they aspire to fill the choir -and sing the 

psalms aright; 
Their laughing faces sober down when they the 

anthem raise, 
Within the simple meeting-house of Puritanic 

days ! 



O'er flowery field and mountain slope they stroll 

in summer time, 
They gather nuts from the brown woods when 

comes the Autumn's prime ; 



T,8 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

And as the orchards \'icld their store, the cheerful 

fire-h'ght falls 
On strings of apples they have pared, festooning 

the rude walls. 
And hear the jokes, and list the songs, with which 

they charm their toil ; 
The\'"re happy, doomed to daiK' tasks upon a 

rugged soil ; 
At apple-parings, husking-bees, the young folk.s 

often meet, 
And busy hands and busy tongues can make the 

moments fleet. 



Upon the hill-side lies the corn, just loosened 
from its sheaves. 

As huskers from the golden ears strip off the 
rustling leaves ; 

The baskets soon are heaped with maize, for none 
shall play the sliirk, 

Though telling stories, trilling songs, and laugh- 
ing as they work. 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 39 

The moon steals out to lend the light she bor- 
rows from the sun, 

Though many lanterns are aglow, hers is the 
brightest one ; 

Now the red ear of corn, just found, the lad 
displa}'s with pride, 

It bids him kiss the pretty Miss that's seated b)' 
his side I 



Soon to the farm-house they shall wend, expectant 

of the dance. 
The fiddler lightly draws his bow, their young 

hearts to entrance. 
Balance — cross over — right and left — such words 

as these you'll hear, 
O how that wicked, fiddling sound would vex 

the Deacon's ear ! 
What forms more fair in proud saloons than these 

in homespun clad? 
Strike up the notes of Money Musk — what faces 

are more elad ? 



40 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

Gliding through merr\' measures they shall rest 

and silence scorn, 
And toil like Vulcan at his forge until the weary 

morn ! 



Behold next day the rustic belle who figured in 

each reel, 
Her lightsome step trips back and forth beside 

the spinning-wheel ; 
She does not lean against a harp and idly sweep 

its strings, 
Or fold her hands with languid grace and look 

upon her rings. 
She bakes — she weaves — and any day spins her 

half-dozen skeins, 
Yet has no skill with Berlin wool, and operatic 

strains ; 
And she can sand the parlor floor, and make the 

fire burn bright; 
And have it ready when her beau comes sparking 

Sunday night ! 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 4 I 

She does not know the Kensington, that stitch 

that's so admired, 
She does not paint on porcelain, and send it to 

be fired. 
She never tints a floral wreath on parasol or 

fan, 
She does not know what furniture was fashioned 

for Queen Ann. 
No costly art doth minister to her ^Esthetic 

taste, 
Yet she can piece a patchwork quilt, and save 

each scrap from waste ; 
While quilting this she's very apt to ask her friends 

to tea, 
And merry voices, busy hands proclaim the quilt- 

ine-bee. 



PZxultant youth ! Thou conqueror that wins new 

hopes each day ! 
(3h, how the hours shall mourn for thee when 

thou hast passed away ! 



42 BELLES AND BEAUX. 

For thou art richer in thy dreams than mines 
of wealth untold, 

A thousand simple joys are thine that are not 
bought with gold. 

Lo, the red berries thou hast plucked are brighter 
to thy gaze 

Than priceless rubies shall appear to those of 
later days. 

Thy favorite casement, though it wears no curtain 
but the vine, 

Makes mem'ry 'neath silk canopies for olden sun- 
sets pine. 

The Belles and Beaux ! Right pleasant are the 

places where they meet ; 
Within their presence lies a charm that makes 

remembrance sweet ; 
We catch the smile, the bantering word, and 

laughter's happy tone. 
Their high anticipations seem around our spirit 

thrown. 



BELLES AND BEAUX. 43 

Tlieir ardent friendships and their loves our sym- 

patliies engage ; 
Their thoughtless gayety that mocks at dull and 

plodding age ; 
And yet. alas ! as years shall pass, Time, in the 

common way, 
Shall wiite his wrinkles on each brow, and change 

the locks to gray! 

The youthful friends that met so oft, have grown 
estranged and cold, 

Or else from widely-separate homes they'll cor- 
respondence hold ; 

Enraptured lovers settle down to sober married 
life. 

And their "My dear" thrills not the ear of hus- 
band or of wife. 

The wild and reckless youth at length has all 
his " wild oats " sown, 

And as the most respectable of business men is 
known. 



44 



HELLKS and REAliX. 



Or else he holds a dark career, till friends sliall 

turn a\\a)\ 
And speak his name reluctant!)', as one who's 

eone astraw 



The Beau who broke so many hearts has crow's 

feet round his e^'es. 
And she wiio wiin him from the rest in marria^^e 

oained no prize; 
The killing" glances of the Helle her spectacles con- 
ceal. 
Perchance upon her ruby lips Death long hath 

set Ills seal. 
When we recall those b\-gone scenes, how often 

is it said. 
'* How man}' of my early friends are numbered 

with the dead !" 
And as the olden clax's come back "neath Memor\''s 

control. 
Like Ossian's visions the\' are sweet. \"et mournful 

to the soul I 



VENUS AND VULCAN. 45 



VENUS AND VULCAN. 

IT was the marvel of my carh' dreams 
That Venus unto Vulcan should be ^iven. 
The goddess rises from her couch of foam 
With charms transcendent, and in magic zone, 
She floats along, by rosy zephyrs borne, 
The Queen of Love and Beauty. She is won, 
Whom all the gods were eager to adore, 
l-5y Vulcan of the grim and forceful forge. 
An uncongenial union, once methought. 
And sadly from the fable turned away ; 
And yet how deeply is its meaning graved 
Upon the frontal of the actual world. 
Beauty allied with Strength, thus should it be. 
Behold the mountain on its rugged throne 
\n its unshaken majesty and pride. 
Frowning, in sterile steeps, upon the vale : 



46 VENUS AND VULCAN. 

Lo, Beauty comes embracing it with bloom. 
And rocks, as erst herself in tinted shell. 
The dark, old evergreens upon its heights. 
The stars are beaming from their azure home. 
As when the Chaldean's prophecies they wore. 
Armored in strength they rest their golden shields 
Against the massy battlements of heaven, 
And look on Time, who folds his blighting hand 
Before their beauty. Midnight walks the earth : 
Her dusky sandal gives no echo forth. 
Yet potent is her presence, strong her spells, 
Unstayed her footstep, as the conqueror's car 
In flush of triumph, as the rushing tide. 
The viewless winds: Another glides along 
Her silent sombre hours, and weaves their woof 
With sweet forgetfulness and bright-hued dreams. 
With swift, strong pinions sweeping o'er their realm, 
From the full fountains of the universe 
Where they have drank of melody, they come. 
The sister spirits, Music, Poesy ; 
Still in their prime as when they first rejoiced. 
And with the morning stars together sung ; 



VENUS AM) VULCAN. 47 

And still their presence o'er the human heart, 

Steals thrillingly as erst in Eden bowers. 

Speed on, speed on, in radianc}' and power, 

Ye glorious angels, Music, Poesy ; 

See Knowledge watch by his illumined shrine. 

Reading with reverent, never-failing eye 

The mysteries of Creation. Titan-like, 

He grasps the mountains, scans the darkling mine, 

Follows the planets through the trackless air. 

And measures with infinity his thought ; 

While on his brow, immutable, there sits 

Benignant beauty. Never faileth Love, 

Though Pestilence, and Penury, and Scorn, 

And all the myriad ills of life assail ; 

She lifts her lamp with purer, stronger beams. 

Above the gathering gloom, and goeth on. 

Smiling at her own tenderness and power ; 

Beautiful alike when shrined at home. 

And in the fireside's lustre counting o'er 

The joys and cares of many a tranquil year. 

Or when she dwelleth 'neath the roof of kings, 

And in the dimming atmosphere of courts, 



48 VENUS AND VULCAX. 

Weareth her garlands in their native bloom. 
There sweepeth by a silent, shadowy train ; 
It is the march of hours. The phantom hand 
Of Sorrow waveth toward their sepulchre ; 
Young Hope lists to their footfall with a smile ; 
While Joy with siren voice would bid them stay ; 
In vain, nor pause, nor haste, their pathway knows ; 
Silent, and stern, and strong, they keep their course; 
Yet robed in sunshine, shrouded deep in gloom. 
Still do they pass in beauty. Go and view 
The heavy centuries since Earth was young. 
Behold like waves the nations rise and fall. 
Go to the cities on the desert's lap. 
In desolation's long and dreamless sleep; 
Scan well the Past, and of the Future dream. 
Read as thou canst the mysteries of Time, 
And write sublimest beauty on the -hours. 
Ay, Strength and Beauty crystal pillars are 
Upholding fair Creation. Chaos dim 
Smiled when she saw them rising from her realm. 
So glorious they from Architect divine. 
Ay, Strength and Beauty, fitly do ye blend. 



VENUS AND VULCAN. 49 

As do the rugged oak and graceful vine, 

As does the rainbow o'er the storm-cloud bent ; 

And thought on swift-winged errand stealeth back. 

Beneath the ivied portals of the Past, 

Unto your bridal. Lo, Olympus dawns I 

Lo, Vulcan and his peerless, sea-born bride! 



50 HEAVENLY MANSIONS. 



HEAVENLY MANSIONS. 

THOSE mansions rest, 
How glorious, in Heaven's unfailing light I 
With joys immortal inlinitely blest, 
With beaut}' and perfection ever bright ! 

How fair they beam 
O'er all the pageantries of human pride, 

O'er all earth's pleasures, transient as a dream, 
Those dazzling courts where angel footsteps glide I 

This storm-swept vale 
Weareth the ivy garlands of decay, 

Ever some care or grief its homes assail, 
There falls a shadow for each earthly ray. 



HKAVENIA' MANSIONS. 5 1 

There is no blight 
Upon the mansions of that better land, 

For formed within the Father's realm of light, 
How radiant thev arose at his command ! 



We know His power. 
So far as mortal mind ma\- comprehend ; 

The farthest star-beam, and the humblest flower, 
Alike proclaim His glory without end ! 



Beauty He lent 
To gladden e'en the fading shores of Time ; 

How lavishl}' its treasures must be spent 
Amid the bloom of the Eternal clime ! 



Shall there not dwell 
Within that clime, some likeness of this sphere? 
Shall not the scenes that we have loved so well. 
In brighter hues and balmier airs appear? 



52 HEAVENLY MANSIONS. 

The fountain's mirth. 
The grace and melody of vernal bowers, 

The flowery banks, the sunlit skies of earth. 
Shall thev be mirrored in immortal hours? 



As star from star 
Doth differ in the constellation's light. 

So haply, unto spirits varying far. 
Shall beam those many mansions of delight 



Oh, heavenly home ! 
Before thy gates the warring passions cease, 

No dark distrust, no rankling thought shall come 
Within thy paths of purity and peace. 



The hopes and dreams 
That dawned with morning radiance o'er the heart. 

And left it sighing for their mocking gleams, 
Mav wake anew, and never more depart. 



HEAVENLY MANSIONS. 53 

Death's reign is o'er, 
His sceptre perished with the robes of clay; 

The soul hath flown to those gone on before. 
And Love shines forth with ev^erlasting ray ! 

Oh, happy band ! 
Breathing glad welcome in those mansions fair ; 

How brightly the home circles shall expand, 
When all the spirit throng are gathered there ! 

What hymnings sweet, 
Wafted by angel hosts around the Throne, 

Shall fill that house where knowledge is complete, 
And all God's loviner mercies shall be known ! 



54 A HOME SONG. 



A HOME SONG. 

WE are but few around the hearth, 
But when we gather there 
For all the world's alluring scenes 

We've little thought or care. 
There are proud halls and festive throngs 

For such how many sigh ! 
Give us the simple joys of home, 
And let the years go by. 

We are but few around the hearth. 

Together let us cling ; 
For our affection cannot fail, 

Whatever Time may bring. 
Though summer friends should turn away 

And sorrows hover nigh, 
Oh, we will cheer each other still, 

Until the clouds pass by. 



A HOME SON(;. 55 

We are but few around the hearth, 

It is our earnest prayer 
That the destroyer of earth's ties 

Our circle still may spare. 
What joy each kindly face to see, 

Each well-known voice to greet, 
Kind heaven a few more blessed years 

Around our hearth to meet! 



56 A iMIRTlllUl, BOOK. 



I 



A MIRTHFUL BOOK. 

HAVE a pleasant friend who lent to me a 

funny book ;'" 
Oh any one is sure to laugh that o'er its leaves 

doth look. 
This book is like a merry child when scampering 

o'er the floor ; 
Or like a kitten frolicking, and rolling o'er and 

o'er. 
This book is like the fountain's rush, all sparkle, 

and all spray, 
And gravity, before it lost, goes eddying away. 

One read it and almost forgot the sorrows Life 
doth wear : 

One read it and grew insolent unto His High- 
ness, Care ; 



*" Out of the Hurlyburly," by Max Adler. 



A MIRTHFUL HOOK. 57 

One read it, and forgot to sigh and worry over 

work ; 
(3ne read it and was very sure, awhile to play 

the shirk. 
One read and grew oblivious of either friend or 

foe ; 
One read, and grinned, until the face was one 

perpetual glow! 

Thousands of wise and solemn books the world 

doth ponder o'er, 
New volumes, published every year, are added to 

this store, 
Hut 1 can on my fingers count the books Old 

Fun has made, 
I wish Old Fun was more inclined to learn the 

author's trade. 
'Tis very well from science and from poesy to 

quaff ; 
And yet I dearly love the book that gives a hearty 

lau'di. 



58 WIxNTEK. 



WINTER. 

THE landscape lies in deep repose. 
The deep repose of Death ; 
All cold and pale, in icy mail, 
'Neath Winter's blighting breath, 
The skies, a\', Summer's smiling skies, 
Are dark, and chill, and drear ; 
And streamlets keep their sluggish sleep 
As waxeth old the year. 

Where are the flowers, the fragrant flowers? 

Gems of the wood and wold ; 
They passed away in bright decay 

From Autumn's wreath of gold : 
Where are the leaves, the clustering leaves, 

That clothed the graceful bough ? 
Whirled to and fro, they're scattered low, 

And trees are wailinu" now. 



WINTER. 59 

The Wild Wind from his northern home 

Doth pour his fitful song ; 
O'er the snow-waste, with phantom haste, 

He sobs and shrieks along; 
His sleety arrows, swift and sure, 

Speed o'er the whitened fields; 
His voice rings out like warrior's shout 

Mid clash of brazen shields! 

Oh, Winter! stern and dread art thou 

Where Poverty doth dwell ; 
Wilt ne'er unclasp thy palsy grasp 

W^ithin the fireless cell ? 
While thou dost spread the scanty board, 

And chill the pallid cheek. 
Though kind thv rei^jn o'er Wealth's domain. 

Who would thy praises speak ? 

For this, oh Winter, we'll rejoice 

To see thee exiled go ; 
Led forth by Spring a blind old king, 

W' ith wandering step and slow ; 



6o WINTER. 

Antigone sad GEdipus, 

Guides forth with filial care; 

So shall the Spring around thee cling, 
Thy daughter young and fair. 



THE BLUE VIOLET. 6l 

THE BLUE VIOLET. 

OH, rare, sweet Violet, 
The loveliest gem e'er set 
In sunshine's burnished gold ! 
The poetry, the grace, 
Within thy modest face, 
Can ne'er be fitly told. 

Oh, regal is the Rose, 

For Love about her throws, 

And prospered Hopes their calm ; 
How smiles she in her pride, 
As of joy's fullest tide, 

She speaks with breath of balm. 

But thou, dear Violet, 
Hast seen thy best star set 

In sadness and despair. 
Within thy golden heart, 
Some love is thrown apart, 

Blighted — yet once most fair. 



62 THE BLLFE VIOLET. 

To wood and wayside cling, 
Thou blue-eyed waif of Sprinc^, 

And woo us from our care; 
Thou art almost too sweet 
To crouch thee at our feet. 

And breathe but common air. 

Enchanting- as romance. 
For aye the world entrance. 

By meads and mossy streams. 
Still bring to Childhood's eyes 
(jjimpses of Paradise, 

In vague, delicious dreams. 

The Poet who shall yet 
Shrine best the Violet, 

Her modest worth, 
His lyre away may fling, 
And walk w^ith those that sing 

Most sweetly upon earth. 



THE MIDNIGHT LAMP. 6 



THE MIDNIGHT LAMP. 

BURN on 1 burn on I thou lonely flame, 
Within the midnight's dim profound ; 
For spirits of immortal name, 

Forth from the past are thronging round ! 
They come with hushed and solemn tread, 

They come with thoughts serene and high. 
Come where thy sober rays are shed, 

And wake the dreams of years gone by. 

The v^otaries of science bend 

A toil-worn brow beneath thy beams, 
Until their minds a radiance lend 

Which blesses all where'er it gleams. 
Like beacons are they, o'er the waves. 

To light the mariner to morn ; 
Their memory rises from their graves, 

In hearts of after-aues worn. 



64 THE MIDNKJHT LAMP. 

And poets gather 'neath thy rays, 

A glorious and impassioned throng ; 
And in their proud, unfading bays, 

They wake again the lofty song. 
"The bard of midnight and of tears,"* 

And he of Ayrshire's humble home, 
And others, from Misfortune's years. 

Come forth with bards from princely dome. 



A wearied artist sinks to rest, 

Forgetting penury and care; 
And yet his drear\' cell is blest, 

Behold the speaking canvas there ! 
A statue smiles from out the gloom, 

A dream wrought from yon pallid brow ; 
Steal soft, thou lamp-light, through the room. 

Break not his sleeping visions now ! 



*Henry Kirk White. 



THE MIDNIGHT LAMl'. 65 

Ah, they who burn the midnight oil 

Upon the dazzHng shrine of Fame, 
Are Hke the lamp that lights their toil — 

Life wastes in mind's intenser flame. 
Though life may be the sacrifice. 

Though want and misery darkly frown, 
Still must their rugged pathway rise. 

Still must they grasp the victor's crown. 

Not as the lamps of festive halls 

Which gleam in splendor o'er the gay, 
While Pleasure spreads her siren thralls. 

Art thou, the Lamp of sober ray. 
Thou art where Meditation reigns, 

With many a mind of mighty mold ; 
And Genius in thy presence deigns 

Divinest treasures to unfold. 



66 THE Ol.l) MAN. 



T 



THE OLD MAN. 

HE old lion is sick, and he lies in his lair. 
At his home stays the old man a\ ith silver- 
white hair. 



The old lion was once of the desert a king; 
There was might in his voice; there was might in 
his spring.- 

The old man was once young and hardy and bold ; 
His voice gained attention ; his strength won him 
gold. 

(3nce the tawny old lion, with stealthiest tread. 
Secured spoil abundant, and amply he fed, 



rHK OLD MAX. 67 

Now his eye is aweary, his muscles are slack, 
And an hour's creeping on when a meal he shall 
lack. 

Ah, once the old man for preferment and place, 
For all winnings, could keep with his fellows apace. 

From Life's fierce arenas, where young hearts aspire. 
And sfrcv/^i^ nerves are tried, the old man must retire. 

Now he lives like a bee on his summer-saved hoard, 
(3r, dependent sits down at another man's board. 

Let the old lion die in his jungle alone. 

Neglect cannot grieve him. His heart is of stone. 

Rut, be kind to the old man, and gentle words 

speak, 
Lest the bitter tears fall down his furrowed old 

cheek ! 



68 AT REST. 



AT REST. 

OLD Mrs. Blank went away last night, 
\\ ent away when the storm was abroad in 
its might ; 
Went away, though her footsteps were feeble and 

slow, 
And you'll ask why at such time her friends let 
her go. 

She has left the old room where so long she has 

staid — 
See, on her worn prayer-book her spectacles laid ; 
Well or ill, they have served her for many a year — 
Now she's cast them aside — for her vision is clear I 

How much at yon window her needle she plied ; 
To renew her worn raiment she earnestly tried. 
Now, patching and darning, and saving each shred. 
Shall trouble no longer her wear)- old head. 



AT REST. 69 

Vul lier work-basket b\-. it has patchwork begun 
I'or fingers whose tasks are forevermore done. 
Put away the gray stocking, half knit, A\'ith its ball. 
Vov her Life's thread has now raveled out at 
Death's call. 

Oft at evening, with head drooped as if in a doze, 

What scenes on her memor\- brighth' arose, 

Of the home of her childhood — its valleys and 

hills— 
Where. her steps bounded light as the glad-singing 

rills. 

She was loneh" in evenings — the twilights were 

drear ; 
She dreaded the Winter; the Spring did not cheer. 
She was lonely in Summer — the days were so long. 
And more loneh- to listen the Fall cricket's song. 

Old Mrs. Blank had no home of her own, 
Of her nearest of kindred bereft, and alone, 



•JO AT REST. 

Dependent and feeble, and shrouded in L,doom, 
Oh, is it not well that she left the old room ? 

The years are accomplished in which there was set 
For her loved and her lost ones a constant regret. 
Her words are all spoken ; her sighs are all spent. 
And her tears are all vanished in perfect content. 

Though humble her lot in this valley of Time, 
Now she's crowned with a majesty strange and 

sublime. 
She has joined that procession which Faith ever 

sings 
As grander than those that Earth gives to her 

kings. 

Old Mrs. Blank went away in the storm, 

But its tumult ne'er troubled her feeble old form ; 

For her earth brow is wreathed with the lilies of 

rest, 
And her spirit has flown to the land of the blest I 



THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE ]MPERL\L. yl 



THE DEATH OE THE PRINCE IMPERIAL. 

BORN in a palace of ancient renown, 
There waits for his wearing Algeria's crown ; 
There were cannon to mark with their volleys the 

day, 
There were courtiers assembled all homage to pa\-. 
Rare robes and rare laces enwrapped him like fate, 
The Darling- of France, Prince of proudest estate. 

To those grand old saloons of historic fame, 
What crowds of high fashion and luxur\' came ; 
What gildings and mirrors and tapestries traced 
With armorial signs, the proud Tuileries graced. 
So prospered and blest the Imperial pair. 
Who could dream that Misfortune held aught for 
their heir. 



J2 THE DEATH DE THE PRTNCn^' IMPERIAL. 

The world knows the story, and all its reverse, 
Captive, fug-itive, exiles. We need not rehearse. 
Eugenie, the lovely, strews flowers on a tomb. 
And the Bonaparte Eagles are shrouded in gloom. 
Vet, the young Louis lives. On his throne ma\" 

find place, 
For what may not come to his name and his race ! 

Time passes. A warfare has fiercely begun 

On the coast which lies under the South Afric 

sun. 
The Zulus are tigers that spring from their lair. 
And England's best chivalry grapples them there ! 
For the Land that erst gave him a refuge and 

home. 
Arrayed for her battles, a brave Prince has come. 

Oh, most direful ambush on that grassy plain ! 
Assegaied, again, and again, he lies slain I 
A placid look rests on the face fallen down. 
He wears not his earthly, but heavenly crown. 



THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE IMl'ERIAI.. 73 

How false is the promise that smiled on his birth 1 
He lies but as common clay stark on the earth. 

O mysterious Fate ! thy measures are strange ; 
Like the sands that are shifting forever in change. 
The throne and the palace like mirage may fail, 
And imperial names be like straws on a gale. 
Oft fall, like Thor's hammer, events of the time. 
Yet there runs through all changes a purpose 
sublime. 



74 THE BEECHEN WOODS. 



THE BEECHEN WOODS. 

HOW pleasant, Jennie, ^\■as the vale 
Where passed the summer hours 
And pleasant was the mountain side, 

Of spruce and pine its bo^\•ers. 
But fairest were the beechen woods. 

The dearest haunt of all ; 
And wandering there we often saw 
The evenine shadows fall. 



How blithely swept from off the hill. 

Unto the sunn}' trees, 
Fraught with their balm\' whispering. 

The winglets of the breeze ; 



THE BEECIIEN WOODS. 75 

The hill had bloomy, tangled weeds. 

Instead of golden grain : 
And often was it hurried o'er, 

The beechen woods to gain. 

How lovely were the beechen woods, 

In all their leaf}- pride : 
When first we saw^ their vistas spread 

The lonely road beside ; 
A silver streamlet wandered there, 

With swift and chiming feet ; 
And when we heard its happy song. 

Were not the moments sweet? 

Do you remember, Jennie dear, 

That mossy rock and gray? 
The boughs droop o'er it, and below 

The laughing waters play : 
Do you recall the legends old 

We oft repeated there ? 
The poesy whose words were breathed 

Upon the silent air? 



76 THE BEECHEN WOODS. 

Or how, beneath the sumach hedge. 

We dreamed away the hours ? 
There, just across the lonely road. 

We saw the beechen bowers ; 
We rested by the olden wall, 

Upon the turfy ground ; 
And heard the voice of fantasy. 

For silence was around. 

We dreamed, so fair, so sylvan were 

The features of the place, 
That fauns and dryads haunted it, 

And gave to it its grace ; 
We sa\\- them slyly peeping forth 

From out the green arcades. 
As fancy reared their ancient realm 

Upon those sunny glades. 

So like the scenes that old romance 
Gives fondly to its page ; 

So much her glowing visions seemed 
The greenwood's heritage ; 



THE BEECHEN WOODS. 'J'J 

We thought, from out the boughs, to see 

Some red-cloaked gipsey stand, 
To read our future destinies 

From off the gold-crossed hand. 

Ah, Jennie, all those visions fled 

From out the beechen bowers. 
They'll haunt no more the pleasant shade, 

To wing the lightsome hours; 
They fled before our parting glance. 

As silently we stood. 
And watched the sunlight fading from 

The tresses of the wood. 

And since hath autumn dimmed the leaf, 

And sighed in every breeze; 
And winter hangs his icy chains 

Upon the cheerless trees; 
We look upon the beechen woods, 

No blighting do they wear ; 
We see them still, and evermore 

As when we wandered there. 



78 THE BEECHEN WOODS. 



YEARS AFTER. 

Hangs on the wall a wreath of green 

Within a golden frame, 
And mossy letters 'mid this wreath 

Do spell a simple name ; 
The moss grew in those dear, old woods 

Where we so often strayed ; 
The letters, now in faded green. 

By Jennie's hand were made. 

These letters spell, " The Beechen WOODS,' 

And sunny scenes recall ; 
They 'mind me of a summer past, 

While hanging on the wall ; 
They 'mind me of the daisied fields, 

The rocks, and upland climb ; 
They 'mind me of the mountain brooks, 

Smooth-flowing as a rhyme. 



THE BEECHEN WOODS. 79 

My cousin Jennie! long it seems 

Since she has passed from earth ! 
I have no words to fitly speak 

Her excellence and worth. 
The brilliant mind, the genial word, 

The bright and laughing eye; 
O, how these cheered the happy hour, 

When Jennie, dear, was nigh. 

I dream of many a pleasant scene 

Where we together walked ; 
I dream of pleasant afternoons 

When we together talked ; 
I rove with her in that fair land 

Where mountain mists uprolled 
Before the coming of the sun 

Whose spears were tipped with gold. 

O, Jennie, dear, in Heaven's fair land 

Dost thou not wait for me? 
Through all earth's many changing scenes, 

I still remember thee. 



8o THE BEECHEN WOODS. 

Shall we not meet in some bright morn. 
Whose mists have rolled away, 

And still together, as of old, 
Through flower}^ vistas stray? 



A CUP OF TEA. 8l 



A CUP OF TEA. 

'■ The cup that cheers but not inebriates." 

IN the " Flowery Kingdom," far over the sea, 
Lives the " Heathen Chinee " for the culture 
of tea ; 
Thus giving much comfort to you and to me. 
Souchong, or Oolong, or whatever it be, 
Give generous praise to the Cup of Tea. 

In the past, when the Viking held a rout 
In the wassailing hall with song and shout. 
They drank rich mead till the draught gave out. 
Such draught inspired demoniac glee. 
So we'll rest content with a Cup of Tea. 

Let the Bacchanal chant his laud of wine, 
And the Thyrsus bound by its ivy twine. 
Yet still, where the sweet home graces shine, 
Souchong, or Oolong, or whatever it be, 
One is best regaled by a Cup of Tea. 



82 A CUP OF TEA. 

Why, even our Goddess of Liberty 
Sprang, V^enus-like, from a Cup of Tea ! 
Steeped in that Boston harbor, you see ! 

By the Stars and Stripes that float o'er the 
Free, 

Give infinite praise to that Cup of Tea ! 

In this age of much progress, with Mind on the 

wing, 
And the nerves on the strain hke the time- 
keeper's spring, 
Refreshment, a health-giving Hebe doth bring; 
Souchong, or Oolong, or whatever it be. 
In that amber-hued nectar — a Cup of Tea. 

The old Dame that's working too hard for her 

years. 
Stays her trembling hand, and oft-times her tears, 
With " The cup that inebriates not, and yet cheers." 
Souchong or Oolong, or whatever it be. 
She'll bless her consoler — a good Cup of Tea. 



A CUP OF TEA. 83 

" When the kettle sings songs full of innocent 

glee," 
In the home of some maiden or " Widow Machree," 
And the suitor's invited to come and take tea, 
Souchong or Oolong, or whatever it be. 
The best social cheer is a Cup of good Tea. 



Lotus eaters, who dwell in their islands of balm. 
Where the summer deserts not the towering palm. 
Find not in the lotus so blissful a calm. 

Souchong, or Oolong, or whatever it be. 

As that graciously lent to the Drinker of Tea. 



When tea from the urn of chased silver is poured. 
And the sweetmeats are brought out from where 

they are stored. 
And a dozen dear, female friends meet round the 
board. 
Souchong, or Oolong, or whatever it be. 
Their chit-chat, so spicy, is half due to thee! 



84 A CUP OF TEA. 

Sancho Panza, whose name let kind memories keep, 
Blest the man who first sought the invention of 

sleep, 
But let us bless the man who first thought tea to 
steep. 
And now, my dear reader, where'er you may be, 
I'll go drink your health in a Cup of strong Tea. 



A CUP OF COFFEE. 85 



A CUP OF COFFEE. 

OTHE brown berry let us praise 
5 Where e'er its juice is quaffed ; 
Millions of people in all climes, 
Find comfort in its draught. 

The ancient monks who found its worth- 
Found not a whit too soon — 

Thus gave the toiling ones of earth 
A very precious boon. 

It Cometh from that Eastern land 
Whence so much richness flows, 

The land of spices, and of silks, 
And attar of the rose. 



86 A CUP OF COFFEE. 

There is no doubt, if rightly used. 

It doth the nerves sustain ; 
It helps the mind, and calls it forth 

Its greatest powers to gain. 

O, bring the egg-shell, China cup. 

With decoration fine, 
And fill it with the amber draught 

That's better far than wine. 



TO-MORROW. 87 



TO-MORROW, 

YOUTH does not pause amid her lavish 
pleasures 
To plead with Time, that spendthrift, for her 

treasures ; 
She looks where Hope, the siren is beguiling, 
And up Life's rugged height she boundeth smil- 
ing :— 
" Let old Experience prate, heed not the warning, 
Noon Cometh but to gild the hues of morning; 
Onward! the pathway is with beauty beaming, 
And joy laughs out from every vista gleaming." 
Ah, dreaming Youth, w hy of the Future borrow ? 
Why lose the Present thinking of To-morrow ? 

Shall Manhood, pausing where the goal arises, 
Leaving Life's contests and their vaunted prizes, 
Look down the vale where Memory's lamp is 

burning? 
Or mourn the passing years as unreturning? 



88 TO-MORROW. 

No, no — " press on !" Ambition still is crying, 
"The Autumn sheaves are on the upland lying; 
And the strong will, from each defeat up-springing. 
The pride, the triumph of success is bringing !" 
Aspiring heart I why of the Future borrow? 
Fond Hope is thine, but oh, not thine To-morrow\ 

Age well may pause, so briefly here abiding, 

Seeing- the years to their calm haven gliding, 

Pause and look back where the dim Past is lying ; 

But Youth's fair dreams to his chill glance are 
sighing : 

Gone is Ambition now, a worn-out story; 

Gone are those loved ones that gave Earth its 
glory ; 

Hope smiles no more her faded garlands twining; 

But white-robed Faith appears, her star-brow shin- 
ing ! 

And soaring on, beyond each earthly sorrow, 

She gives a promise of a blest To-morrow I 



CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 89 

CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 

THAT hamlet, Haworth; on a moorland hill, 
Where Winter, as the bigot's brow is chill, 
Doth suddenly become a place of note, 
Here " Currer Bell " her matchless novels wrote. 
A perfect gem her every sentence shines ; 
Did Addison e'er pen more polished lines? 
She had the art — some authors do not own — 
To write but that to Jicr experience known, 
And breathe the thoughts to her the most intense — 
She hath rich fancy, and good common sense. 
Her realism quite transends all praise. 
One lives at " Thornfield Hall," oh, many days! 
And roams its gardens, tipped with sunset's fire. 
And smells its southern-wood, and its sweet-briar. 
This writer plods not, though her books are strong, 
Through myriad pages, and through chapters long ; 
Clearness, conciseness, e'er her page displays. 
With a strange charm, like Autumn's splendid days. 
We read her volumes all, and o'er and o'er, 
And at each reading like them more and more. 



go THE WAX FIGUR?: IN A BROADWAY WINDOW. 



THE WAX FIGURE IN A BROADWAY 
WINDOW. 



AH, lady fair, at fashion's shrine thou ke( 
est well thv place! 



I. 

,'ep- 
thy pk 

A goddess standing in thy niche with never-chang- 
ing face ! 

Sure, the Olympian deities, holding their ancient 
sway. 

Had not such faithful worshipers as fashion finds 
to-day. 

So here, thou idol, lamps shall burn bright as an 
altar flame ; 

And from the crowds that pass thee by full hom- 
age may'st thou claim. 

Puppet, put on thy sov'reignty, and rule Earth's 
v^aried scene, 

Thou hast as much the " right di\ine," as any 
sceptered queen ! 



THE WAX FIGURE IN A BR(^ADWAY WINDOW. 9] 

II. 

'' Myself and toilet please me well," says the com- 
placent smile. 

Ah, pretty doll! dost meditate upon the latest style? 

Thus thousands of thy sister dolls, who boast of 
breathing clay, 

Will lavish all their thought and time on sump- 
tuous array. 

Such lovely silks, such loves of hats, such gems 
so richly set, 

And lace that looks as if frost flowers were traced 
along its net ; 

Ribbons so beautiful, and wreaths by some French 
Flora twined, 

Are themes they study — taste in dress, they think, 
proves one refined. 

III. 
Display thy hand, so lily white. It hath no need 

to toil ; 
Though for our comforts, luxuries, some hardened 

palm must moil. 



92 THE WAX FIGURE IN A BROADWAY WINDOW. 

Thy pearl)' fingers idly droop, like petals of a flow'r ; 
Thou'st no device to pass the time, nor task for 

an\' hour. 
Yet there are hands of muscle framed, veined 

with life's throbbing tide. 
That are almost inert as thine, through Indolence 

and Pride ; 
Just doing Jiothing gracefully, and wearing silken 

gear. 
Defines that term, "a Lady," and flatters many 

an ear. 



IV. 
ThoH art a lady ! and th\" name — if so thou hadst 

a name — 
Might proudly on some 'scutcheon rest, voiced 

by obsequious Fame ; 
Thou'rt of the race of belted knights ,and dames 

of high degree ; 
And other drones of great descent, wherever 

thev mav be ! 



THE WAX FIGURE IN A BROADWAY WINDOW. 93 

Such deem themselves of finer mould than churls 

of common clay ; 
Then vaunt thee o'er such vaunting dust — thou'rt 

finer e'en than they ! 
And need'st ignore no relative who, at the forge 

or plow, 
Earns at God's price his honest bread — that price 

his sweating brow! 



V. 
What if those pallid images from the dull quarry 

wrought, 
The fair impersonations of the sculptor's highest 

thought, 
Should suddenly awake to life at some Pygmalion's 

pray'r ! 
How would they, mid Earth's joys and woes, their 

mortal bondage wear ? 
And how, if by such miracle as classic fables show — 
The constant rose tint of thy cheek changed to 

life's fitful elow — 



94 THE WAX FIGURE IN A BROADWAY WINDOW. 

How would'st thou spend existence then ? What 

character for thee ? 
Ah, Fashion's brightest butterfly most surely thou 

would'st be ! 



yi. 
Thou as a belle wouldst reign — thy charms should 

brainless fops enthrall, 
Within the dazzling drawing-room, at opera and ball ; 
Society would mould thy heart, the mirror would 

thy face, 
Thou would'st not e'en an eyelid lift, without a 

studied grace. 
Thy lip would have a scornful curve, thy head a 

haughty fling, 
Some foreign phrases thou shouldst speak, and 

some Italian sing ; 
Through Europe trav'ling thou perchance, as Csesar 

conquering came, 
Would'st wed some Count — for Yankee gold can 

buy a titled name ! 



THE WAX FIGURK IN A BROADWAY WINDOW. 95 

VII. 
Fair semblance, thou requirest not, to make thee 

look more fair, 

The toilets aids — complexion pure as thine demands 
no care ; 

No slyly-used pearl powder, and no rouge for cheek 
or lip. 

In ban oline nor hair-gloss thou wilt ne'er thy 
tresses dip. 

Thy dainty waist is ready-made in Fashion's hour- 
glass shape, 

And shall the cruel torturing of " whalebone bond- 
age " 'scape. 

Such waists are — thanks to Fashion plates — admired 
throughout the land, 

Though they blaspheme that perfect form which 
our Creator plann'd ! 

VIII. 

A handsome face, like thine, is e'er the poet's 

favorite theme ; 
A snowy brow with silken locks, and eyes with 

starry gleam. 



96 THE WAX FIGURE IN A BROADWAY WINDOW. 

And ruby lips, are just the words that lyrics link 
to praise^;- 

To cancel these with vandal pen would spoil the 
lovers' lays. 

And yet how poor is Beauty, how inane its fairest 
face, 

Without the glow of intellect, without the spirit's 
grace ! 

Let those blind worshipers who deem mere love- 
liness divine. 

Come pay their flatteries to thee — and see their 
chosen shrine ! 



IX. 

One shining excellence of thine should emulated be: 
Thou art not prone to senseless prate, or stinging 

repartee ; 
Let woman's haters now unsay all they have said 

or sung. 
For here ! she can a secret keep — and she can hold 

her tong-ue ! 



THE WAX FIGURE IN A BROADWAY WINDOW. 97 

And thou shalt ne'er luax old, nor sigh for vanished 
days^ — in sooth, 

These mortals mourn who- vainly sought the fabled 
Fount of Youth — - 

The failing eye, the furrowed brow, the hair with 
silver gleams, 

And, most of all, the fading out of Youth's gay- 
colored dreams ! 



X. 

Thou mocker of the human heart, that's thrilled 
with hope and fear ! 

For thou hast no illusive thought, and thou canst 
shed no tear ; 

Thou'rt armored in unconsciousness, as hosts in 
mailed pride ; 

For all the many ills of life thou singly hast defied. 

The cares and the anxieties that half our pleasures 
balk, 

The grimmest spectres ever seen that e'en at noon- 
tide walk. 



98 TllK WAX FIGURE I\ A BROADWAV WINDOW. 

And poverty that from our hearth glowers at us 

hke a foe — 
These, favored by Lethean sleep — these thou shalt 

nexer know. 

XI. 
Xe'er trembled on those placid Hps Love's wild 

and anguished prayer, 
As gathered round the household band misfortune 

and despair; 
Ne'er breathed they pity's gentle tones, nor words 

of kindh^ cheer; 
Nor smiled, as some beloved voice entranced the 

listening ear. 
They ne'er the scholar's lesson conned through 

many a silent hour, 
Nor once of knowledge ever spoke as 'twere a 

glorious dow'r I 
Dull image, who would be exempt, like thee, from 

earthly strife. 
And lose the wisdom and the love immortals wrest 

from life ! 



TH?: WAX FIGURE IX A BROAinVAY \VIXl)OW. 99 

XII. 
Thou "counterfeit presentment" of the "human 

face divine," 
Mocking the consecrated clay that is the spirit's 

shrine ; 
Mocking our perishable form, like those sad dwellers 

hid 
From dull decay, in sculptured halls, within the 

Pyramid. 
Death, the Iconoclast, shall spurn an image such 

as thou ; 
Death ever eager to unveil the angel's starry brow, 
And lead unto eternal joys I He prompts a Dante's 

cry^ — 
When foe and fortune frowns- — "Ye cannot doom 

me not to die!" 



iOO THANKSGIVriNTG OF THE IKOOUOIS. 



THANKSGIVING OF THE IROQUOIS. 

ALL hail ! thou ancient, mother earth. 
To thee our thanks be paid; 
Th(ni beamest with benignant smiles. 

In loveliness arrayed; 
Thou givest with sustaining care 

Forth from thy lavish store ; 
Grant that returning seasons find 
Thy bounties as before. 

All hail ! ye bright, refreshing streams. 

All hail ! where'er ye glide ; 
Rolling along the thirsty plain 

With coolness on your tide, 
Or murmuring through the leafy dell 

Where shadows wave their wings. 
We greet you ; may the fires of Noon 

Drink not your living springs. 



THANKSGIVING OF THE IROQUOIS. lOI 

All hail ! ye earth-adorning herbs, 

A blessing" do ye bear; 
Bidding the demons of disease 

Our lives and health to spare: 
And with such potency endowed, 

Undinimed by any blight. 
Still ma\' )'e spring, "neath Summer airs. 

Along your pathway bright. 

z*\ll h.ail to thee ! thou graceful maize, 

The harvest's golden crown ; 
Dwell with thy sister plants in fields, 

And Famine ne'er shall frown. 
We hear the rustling of thy leaves, 

And know thy spirit voice. 
Trusting thy presence ne'er may fail, 

VVe greet thee and rejoice ! 

All hail ! ye bushes and ye trees. 

Still fair and undecayed ; 
Thanks for your fruitage-laden boughs. 

And for your pleasant shade. 



I02 THANKSGIVING OF THE IROQUOIS. 

Continue with a plenteous yield 

To bless the wants of all, 
As in their rich and glowing hues 

Your ripened treasures fall. 

And hail ! ye swift-careering winds 

That sweep the sultry skies ; 
The forest with her ancient oaks 

Is swaying where ye rise. 
Her slumb'rous branches thrill to hear 

Your murmurs deep and loud, 
And fleeth wildly with broad wings, 

The richly-crested cloud. 

All hail ! fair moon and tranquil stars 

That bless the gloomy night ; 
Earth greets you, as her woods and glades 

Rest softly in your light: 
Continue on our darkened vales 

Your radiance to bestow, 
As watching in those far-off homes 

Ye keep your fires aglow. 



THANKSGIVING OF THE IROQUOIS. lOj 

And hail to thee! resplendent sun, 

We love thy kindly eye, 
As parting back the cloud's rich folds 

Thou lookest from the sky: 
We ask in every dawn, as now, 

Thy burning plumes to trace; 
Trusting our deeds may never dim 

The glory of thy face. 

Great Spirit, in Thy boundless realm ! 

Attend uiito our prayer! 
Th\- children would return their thanks 

For all Thy loving care ! 
In Thee all goodness hath its source, 

On Thee all powers depend ; 
Guide us and grant Thy blessings still ! 

Great Spirit ! Father ! Friend ! 



I04 /ESTHETIC VERSE. 



^ESTHETIC VERSE. 

THE poems of to-day are brief — 
I think they're growing sweeter — 
They lean more to the daily life, 
They're clearer, and completer. 

The world now sees so much to do. 

So wild, Ambition's hurry. 
That verse should be like flecks of foam 

Thrown off by ocean's flurry. 

The poem must be tersely told 

To suit the poet's corner. 
Since of unfamed, diffusive rhyme. 

The world is oft a scorner. 

Now the aesthetic craze prevails, 

The bard succeeds but illy 
Who does not learn to paint in verse 

The sunflower and the lily. 



TWO AUTHORS. 105 



TWO AUTHORS. 

LONGFELLOW. 

HIS verse, as richly varying, doth expand 
As the great States that are his native land ; 
And as the organ tones that rise sublime, 
So doth the cadence of his lofty rhyme. 
Like the stained windows which old masters paint 
So sweetly with the cherub, or the saint, 
So, all his themes glow with delicious hues. 
And all his words are fresh as morning dews. 
His genius is an eagle of clear sight, 
Whose strong wings reach with ease the mountain 
height ! 

DICKENS. 
Ah, here is one most like a Summer's day. 
That needs must have his gladness anyway; 



I06 TWO AUTHORS. 

E'en where it dawns upon the squaHcl street, 
Wliere pass so many weary, wandering feet. 
He sees in many a one in tattered dress 
Such lovely traits as angels might possess; 
That these poor creatures in their want and woe, 
An- heirs of heaven, he doth most proudly show. 

And though he waken Pity's tears awhile, 
He's sure to give us, too, the laugh or smile. 
He proves that Vice, whatever game she plays, 
Must fall at last upon unlucky days. 
He writes through Fiction's fascinating page. 
Most splendid sermons that all hearts engage. 
The creed he teaches none may harshly scan, 
'Tis love for God through sympathy for man ! 



THE NEWSPAPER. lO/ 



THE NEWSPAPER. 

A GUEST is waiting at the door 
That I rejoice to see ; 
Because I know he's coming here 
To talk awhile with me. 

This is an entertaining guest, 
He's witty, and he's wise ; 

I think — he sees so many things — 
He has a thousand eyes. 

A power most responsible 

And great, this guest doth wield. 
He's braver than the knight of old, 

Who hid behind his shield. 

He loveth human progress well, 
Oh, many a one he's taught ; 

And as the farmer scatters seed, 
He broadly scatters thought. 



[08 THE NEWSPAPER. 

He knows of all that's going on 
Of interest on the earth. 

And patiently he tells the news 
Beside how many ;i hearth ! 

In the retirement of nu' home. 
This friend doth bring to me 

The words heard in the drawing-room 
And brilliant coterie. 

He tells of many varied scenes 

In countries far away, 
He chats about the newest books. 

The concert and the play. 

How'er the day may brighth' dawn. 

It seemeth incomplete 
Whene'er this entertaining guest. 

This friend, I fail to meet. 



FOUR QUEENS. IO9 



FOUR QUEENS. 

1SAVV four Queens, each was adorned 
With a majestic crown ; 
And each had on a' very gay, 

And quaintly fashioned gown. 
They'd left awile the brilliant throng 

That hovers round a throne, 
To have a little quiet chat 
Within a boudoir lone. 

QUEEN OF HEARTS. 
" Dear Sister Sovereigns, we will leave 

Awhile the cares of state, 
And all the tiresome etiquette 

That doth upon us wait ; 
So much engaged our liege lords are 

In euchre or in whist. 
That if we take some time to talk, 

I think we'll not be missed." 



no FOUR QUEENS. 

QUEEN OF CLUBS. 
"O, very well, my Queen of Hearts, 

I know your social turn. 
You love that interchange of thought 

Through which ' We live and learn ;' 
Fair, flattering words, in sweet tones breathed, 

With your tastes quite agree, 
But I'm the Queen of Clubs, and like 

The stinging repartee." 



QUEEN OF DIAMONDS. 
" I like the words that scintillate 

As do the Northern Lights, 
I like the jest that flashes forth, 

And merriment excites ; 
I like the pleasant converse held 

Around the winter fire, 
I am the Queen of Diamonds, 

And brilliancy admire." 



FOUR QUEENS. Ill 

QUEEN OF SPADES. 
"You compliment, you controvert, 

You captivate with wit, 
But for my patient, plodding mind, 

Calm logic is more fit, 
Hard problems, and philosophy 

In all its varying shades, 
I must unearth, and delve amongst, 

For I'm the Queen of Spacies." 



Up from the card-room voices rise 

Discussing every game; >, 
One voice, in accents querulous, 

A partner seems to blame ; 
And loudly now an angry fist 

Upon the table thumps, 
" Sir, when in doubt with what to lead, 

Hoyle tells you to play trumps! 



112 FOUR QUEENS. 

Then one Queen said, " O, listen now, 

We'll have to hasten back. 
For some one said, ' I have no Queen, 

I'll play instead a Jack.' " 
Let no one for an instant leave 

A throne, or rocking-chair, 
Because, returning, one shall find 

There's some usurper there ! 



OOING HOME. II 



GOING HOME. 

WITH garlands and banners adorning the 
wall, 
And a glow of rich lustres, how glad is the hall 
Where bright forms glide in that make-up the gay 

ball. 
They glide to the rhythm of rapturing sound. 
Floating on in the dance, through its mazes 

profound, 
Sweeping forward, then swerving, then circling 
around, 

As buoyant as billows. 
As light as their foam. 

O, some were most joyous, and bandied the jest, 
As genial as sunbeams, they cheered all the rest. 
And gave to the pageant an infinite zest ; 
And yet ere that pageant had palled on their sight. 



I 14 GOING HOME. 

These passed through the portal, undreading the 
night, 

With their laughter still ringing, their faces all bright, 
Making graceful adieus. 
So, these hav^e gone home. 



Some moved through the crowd with an anguish 

at heart, 
Which to mask with gay smiles seemed a difificult art ; 
And they yearned for the hour which should bid 

them depart. 
And that hour sweetly dawned, like the music's 

refrain. 
When they passed out the portal forgetting all pain, 
To a Haven where peace, and where joy they obtain. 
'Neath a grand, starry dome. 
All these have gone home ! 



Some bend on the scene a gaze cynical, cold, 
As one lists to a story that oft has been told, 



GOING HOME. II5 

Or as if all earth's pleasures no interest hold ; 
And these pass out the portal, and down from 

its height, 
There falls o'er their faces a glow of delight. 
And they whisper loved names of those long lost 
to sight. 

Do the angels e'er roam 
From their far, starry home? 

But the hours onward speeding have brought in 

the morn. 
Whose light, howe'er pallid, puts lustres to scorn, 
And the dancers, grown weary, look almost forlorn. 
They lead the last measure, pass out at the door, 
And their footsteps shall never re-echo that floor; 
Though other feet press it, their festal is o'er 
With the music's last clamor 
They all have gone home ! 

This festal is earth life, nor long its hours stay. 
And it bringeth sad partings, that some deem for aye, 



Il6 GOING HOME. 

As they grieve for its garlands that wither away. 
But Faith through that portal leads on to a shore 
Where life finds a festal that never is o'er, 
And each joy we have hoped for is better and more. 

O, this angel-filled dome 

Is indeed a blest home ! 

A Home that robs Death of its terror and frown — 
Here the soul, beggar-like, may abjectly sink down ; 
There 'tis " born in the purple," and puts on its 

crown ! 
Here our homes, where Affection we fondly enthrone, 
Are but faint types of those where God's love is 

best known. 
Whence He calls to earth's dwellers, " Come nearer 

my own ! " 

'Neath a grand, starry dome, 
Unto Him we <zo home ! 



OUR TEACHER. 11/ 



OUR TEACHER. 

BENIGNANT glances, gentle words, 
She gave to one and all. 
As we sat through many a weary hour, 

Wearing the school-room's thrall. 
Set to a task in Lite's earliest years. 

One wishes the school was out. 
Especially, when with light and bloom 

The summer glows without ; 
And we think of many a daisied field, 

VVaitinfj our son^ and shout! 



Yet this Teacher was as the summer sweet- 
'Twas pleasant to watch her face; 

To that dingy room of the little school 
She royally lent a grace. 



118 



OUR TEACHER 



And oh, one vci'}" woiidcrlul charm 

She had for juvenile ex'cs. 
She painted "Rewards" for us once a week. 

With a brush of brightest dyes; 
To nie on those morsels of paper lay 

Some hints of Paradise I 



There were apple trees, with their apples red. 

A bird on its nested bough. 
Baskets of fruit, and spraj's ot flowers 

Whose memory is fragrant now. 
The picture that she first painted for me 

I'll remember till I die. 
For could I the Old World's galleries walk. 

And their treasures of Art descry, 
They could never give me one-half the joy 

Of that yellow butterfly ! 



WAR. 



119 



WAR. 



" I would the old God of War himself were dead, 
Forgotten, rusting on his iron hills. 
Rotting on some wild shore with ribs of wreck. 
Or like an old-world mammoth bulked in ice. 
Not to be molten out." 

— Tennyson. 

THE darling sons of loving, anxious mothers, 
Lie cold in death upon the battle plain ; 
O'er many a distant home a dark cloud hovers. 
A daily dread to hear of loved ones slain. 



Soldiers must go where cannon balls are flying, 
And where is heard, full oft, the screaming shell ; 

In the close fight had they a sense of dying? 
That secret their mute lips can never tell. 

Better to stop a ball, a tree, or boulder, 

Than is the human form, which wounds agrieve. 

Diplomacy, when nations have grown older, 
Shall e'er the bloodless victor}^ achieve. 



I20 



WAR. 



War shall yet seem an idiotic blunder. 
The crudeness of an unenlightened earth. 

A fossil, to excite the greatest wonder. 
Of an old reptile, of a hideous birth '. 



LIPS NOW DUST, 



121 



LIPS NOW DUST. 

How many lips, sweet crimson flowers, 
Have blossomed to these mortal hours 
Have breathed their wisdom, love, and trust, 
And then have mouldered into dust. 

What kings have spoken from their thrones. 
While nations listened to their tones; 
Have breathed decrees, just, or unjust, 
From royal lips, that now are dust. 



What lovers' flatteries were told 
F"rom many a lip in death now cold ; 
How many a hymn, or roundelay. 
Was trilled from lips that now are clay. 



122 LIPS NOW DUST. 

What wit, what wisdom, hath been shed — 
Like showers of leaves from roses red — 
From Hps that had their smile and glow 
Within the years of long ago. 

What shouts were heard from mailed form, 
What war-cries in the battle's storm ; 
What lips paled to the lance's thrust, 
When hosts were trodden to the dust. 

What eloquence the crowd entreats, 
W^ith lips rich as Hymettus sweets, 
In many, and many, an ancient day, 
What orators have passed away. 

Wiiat beauteous forms have challenged praise. 
With smiling lips in olden days ; 
How mute these belles of loveliness, 
Outlasts them all some satin dress. 

What lips have writhed to moans of pain 
That never shall again complain ; 



LIPS NOW DUST. 12; 

What lips have worn that strange, sweet look, 
As earth life shuts her mystic book. 

O, lips that make the heart forlorn 
If e'er \'e breathe the words of scorn, 
O. lips that make the heart rejoice 
When kindly words ye sweetly voice. 

O, lips that precious science teach, 
O, lips that lofty sermons preach, 
O, lips that o'er the footlights smile 
As Thalia doth the hours beguile. 

O, lips that do so lightly laugh, 
O, lips that old Falernian quaff, 
O, lips that make the banquet gay 
With all the pleasant things ye say. 

O, lips that cheer a neighbor's gloom, 
O, lips so lovely in your bloom. 
What though ye moulder back to clay, 
If spirit lips can smile for aye! 



124 FAR AND NEAR. 



FAR AND NEAR. 

I AM so near the other world, 
Its crowns and palms, 
I almost breathe its blessed air, 
Distilling balms ! 

I am so far from you fair world, 

Its starry cope, 
That through the twilight shadows here 

I sadly grope. 

And when the day wears on, with all 

Its vexing cares. 
Few angels' counsels e'er respond 

Unto my prayers. 



FAR AND NEAR. 125 

Far off the emerald meadows where 

Sweet fountains meet; 
But here are Marah's waves, and toil 

That finds defeat. 



I am so near the Heavenly Home 

It haunts my dreams; 
Its templed heights and rose-hued skies, 

I catch bv irleams. 



So near, the problems of this life 

I set aside, 
Till saintly teaching as a flame 

Their gold has tried. 



So near, I garner withered hopes 
Like Autumn sheaves, 

For an eternal Spring-time soon 
Freshens their leaves. 



126 FAR AND NEAR. 

So near am I that pleasant land 

Of lii^ht and song, 
I almost hear the voices loved 

And missed so long. 

The land of happy greetings, where 

Beloved ones meet. 
Where kindred spirits find no bar 

To converse sweet. 

So far am I from that high sphere, 

I waste my hours 
In listlessness — I do not wake 

My mind's best powers. 

I am so near the Eternal hours, 

In progress spent, 
My aspirations look to them 

For true content. 



A SUMMER IDYL. 12: 



A SUMMER IDYL. 

AFAR in a farm-house, one summer's da}', 
'Neath a vine-clad porch, where the breezes 
play, 
Bringing the scent of the new-mown hay, 
A pretty girl in a calico gown. 
With cheeks of red and curls of brown, 
Sent the churn-dasher up and down. 
And the butter came, and was ladled out, 
And pressed, and patted, and turned about, 
Ry hands that were skillful beyond a doubt. 
That working of butter is almost done 
When there enters the porch a neighbor's son, 
A Corydon, who hath her fancy won. 
And they talk and laugh the hour away. 
The hour when they meet is the best of the day ; 
For such is Love's rule wheresoever his sway. 



[28 A SUMMER IDYL. 

Vet they talk not like rustics in less-favored 

lands, 
They are not uncultured, though rough are their 

hands, 
Since books and newspapers their leisure com- 
mands. 
The stereoscope tells them of scenes far away. 
Thus awhile over Europe in fanc}^ the}' stray, 
They discuss Central Park, and the crowd on 

Broadway. 
They know the new song that is just now the 

rage. 
They discourse of the singer, the poet, the sage, 
And criticise, keenly, the pulpit and stage. 



To Madison Square — -to a mansion arrayed 
In splendor of vestibule — marble facade^ 
That churning of butter is conveyed. 
And a pat of it gleams o'er the damask's snow- 
On a table with silver all aglow, 
Where a fashionable belle dines with her beau; 



A SUMMER IDYL. 1 29 

A millionaire she is soon to wed. 

As they sit at the table, sumptuously spread, 

We'll, ghost-like, glide in, and hear what is 

said. 
They talk of horse-racing, and yachting, and balls, 
Of Newport, its diamonds, and camel's-hair 

shawls. 
And how the new peaches his hearer enthralls. 
'Tis thi villagers' gossip, enlarged for the town; 
More wit hath that chat where vine-shadows fall 

brown ; 
O'er the lad and the lass in the calico gown. 
To these fashionable lovers thus gossiping, 
Does that butter no pastoral visions bring 
Of the dairy-house and its bubbling spring? 
Of encircling hills with their tranquil look? 
Of clumps of willows over the brook ? 
Of the woodland's many a mossy nook ? 
Of orchards made fragrant with eglantine? 
Of meadows where rippling grasses shine ? 
Of hillsides dotted with lazy kine ? 



I30 A SUMMER IDYL. 

That butter that's stamped in a has reHef 
With the semblance of a wheaten sheaf, 
Whose smell is as pure as a lily leaf, 
So golden, so grainy, and good to eat, 
Is a Summer Idyl as complete, 
In its lesser way, as a poem sweet ? 



OUT IN THE RAIN. 131 



OUT IN THE RAIN. 

i i li /r AMMA, I can't find Kitty— 

-i-»-^ I've looked all over the house, 
And wherever she might be hiding, 
Lying in wait for a mouse. 

Kitty, my own dear kitty ! 

Oh, where in the world is she ? 
With a glad purr-meow, and a playful bound, 

Why doesn't she come to me ? 

Now I like to see my kitty. 

With her little, soft, furry face. 
Bound for a ball, or dangle a key, 

A creature of wonderful erace !" 



132 OUT IN THE RAIN. 

And now, Mamma makes ansvver- 
" I'll tell you if you won't cry, 

You cannot find your kitten, 
However much you try. 



To look at my rich lace curtains. 

How many have turned their heads ; 

While they were spread on the grass to bleach 
Kitty tore them into shreds ! 



She helped herself, unbidden, 
To bits from the pantry shelf ; 

She's spoiled with too much petting, 
The lawless little elf ! 



As Bridget was going across the town. 
To visit her mother to-day, 

I told her to carry off kitty, 
And lose her on the way." 



OUT IN THE RAIN. 

Thus kitty's little mistress 
Speaks her indignant mind — 

" I wouldn't have thought uiy mother 
Colt Id Iw so very unkind ! 



Whatever the faults I may possess, 
Tliis of me shall never be told ; 

That any one I once caressed, 
I turned out in the cold! 



There, hear that dash of December sleet, 

Moaning against the pane ! 
It seems to say, in the saddest way, 

Your kitty is out in the rain ! 



My kitty that used to lie on a couch. 
On a cushion soft and warm. 

Is wetting with snow her velvet feet, 
And shiverino- in the storm. 



134 OUT IN THE RAIN. 

Her coat was as fine as your- seal-skin sacque, 
Her eyes matched your emerald ring, 

She is the dearest pet that ever I had I 
The pretty and playful thing ! 

I cannot keep the tears back 

To think how kitty must roam 
Along the dark and desolate streets, 

Like a child that's strayed from home. 

I'll advertise in the paper 

As soon as morning appears : 
" Lost, a little black and white kitten, 

With ribbons in her ears." 



LARKSPUR RINGS. 1 35 



LARKSPUR RINGS. 

DEAR Julia, as I turned with listless book 
The yellow pages of a time-worn book, 
I found within a few pressed leaves and flowers 
That we had gathered in our childhood's hours. 

You will remember those bright, happy days 
When botany, fair science, was our craze ; 
O, many a book we filled with bud and spray 
That treasured thus, awhile, were cast away. 

Yet these few faded blossoms, saved by chance, 
Wear all their early bloom unto my glance. 
And on their native soil they spring anew, 
And childhood's scenes come thronging on my view ! 



136 LARKSPUR RINGS. 

These Larkspur flowerets, pressed into a ring-. 
The memories of a pleasant garden bring; 
Great clumps of Ribbon-grass and Pinks I view. 
And stately Hollyhocks of every hue. 

This apple blossom wakes a vision bright, 
Of an old orchard in its robes of white. 
Most beautiful beneath its May-day crown, 
From which the blossomed pearls kept slipping 
down. 

This Indian pipe that lieth on the page, 

Dark as the meerschaum browned with use and 

age. 
Recalls to me, within the woodland's shade. 
The grassy path, or trail, the red men made. 

This Fern, a warrior's nodding plume of green. 
Recalls to me a pleasant woodland scene ; 
The fallen tree, with many a lichen gray. 
And the shy squirrel scampering away. 



LARKSPUR RINGS. 1 37 

How many wild flowers in the woods upsprung : 
From mottled leaves there grew the Adder's-tongue. 
The wild Geranium's purple met the sight, 
And Bloodroot blossom of a milky white. 

Just on the wood's green verge what violets grew, 
Some pearly white, and some the pensive blue. 
We walked o'er moss beds yielding to our tread ; 
And gathered Partridge berries brightly red. 

The Mandrake's golden fruit we tasted there, 
A tropic flavor it doth richly bear; 
If this wild fruit knew Cultivation's hand 
To what perfection might it not expand? 

Through Spring and Summer hied we to this wood. 

So lovely in its leafy solitude. 

How buds and butterflies allured our gaze! 

O, we W'cre very happy in those days. 

In gardens did we weave the Larkspur rings. 
And press them in our books with other things, 



(3H LARKSPUR RINGS'. 

Sweet-Williams, Marigolds and Four-o'clocks-, 
.\nd Ragged-ladies with their tangled locks. 

We rove again beneath each glacisome tree. 
And hear the drosy droning of the bee, 
And watch the earth in its green garments drest. 
Till sunset fires are glimmering in the west. 

(3, then how glorious was the Summer sky ! 
What joy to mark the fair clouds sailing by; 
Such forms, such hues, the azure floated o'er 
As now the brightest skies shall wear no more. 

O, then what beauty thrilled us in each flower. 
And what enchantments blest each passing hour; 
Each dusty blossom by the road-ide smiled, 
And Hope through every day our hearts beguiled. 

Again, O, Julia, dear, those bygone hours 
Come back as I behold these faded flowers. 
My spirit puts aside all present things — 
We're in a garden, weaving Larkspur Rings! 



MEMORIES. ) 39 



MEMORIES. 

A PASSING hour for thought, 
A glance at the misty past ; 
How many memories rise 

From the reahn of shadows vast ! 

They speak in saddened tones 
Of the unstayed flight of time, 

They speak to the Hstening heart 
Like the notes of a funeral chime. 

They tell in accents cold, 

Of the wrecks of human pride, 

That Ambition's brightest dreams 
All sink in oblivion's tide. 



I40 mi:m(M-iies. 

Vvom changes that ha\'c been 
I^xpcriencc gleans her store. 

And oft she breathes a sigh 
O'er da\-s that come no more. 

A requiem for the past. 
The shadow-hand of time. 

For all that mighty realm. 
That sepulchre sublime ! 



THE FAIRY TALISMAN. I4I 



THE FAIRY TALISMAN; OR, 
HAMMERED HEADS. 

" Best of all, I remember a little hammer in malachite. It was 
beautifully made, with a mother-of-jiearl handle, and a gold clamp, 
evidently designed by Benvenuto Cellini. This the generous gnome 
gave me. 

" 'Take this hammer, poor mortal,' said he, 'as a memento of 
your visit to the King of the Jewels, and when you strike anybody 
on the head with it, that person will become clever.' " 

SOME truth we would not care to mi.ss, is 
"■leamin"; evermore, 
Through all the vision.s, many-hued, that make up 

fairy lore ; 
And this truth, like a jewel, from the gnome we 

here may gain — 
That cleverness results from toil, intensified to pain. 

Talent is not spontaneous growth — not Summer's 

languid rose — 
But sparks that from an anvil spring, 'neath strong 

persistent blows. 



142 THE FAIRY TALISMAN. 

We bless the Jewel King's rare gift, of pearl and 

gold well made, 
Pray let us trace some clev^erness, resulting from 

its aid. 

Byron, the pampered peer, no more can write 

insipid verse. 
When Scotch reviewers' scathing words assail him 

like a curse. 
Like blows, at which his pen shall turn to an 

avenging lance — 
And thus his cantos blossom forth — rich gardens 

of romance. 

Ossian, who long in vain essayed to clothe his 
thought in rhyme. 

Wrests from the hammered head a style, unique 
and most sublime ; 

The warrior forms, the maidens fair, that haunt 
each misty plain, 

Are lovely visions that have sprung from his well- 
cudgeled brain. 



THE FAIRY TALISMAN. 1 43 

When ship\M-ecked Camoens buffeted, with strong, 

right arm, the wave, 
He strove with left hand, zealously, his manuscripts 

to save ; 
Those manuscripts that were the fruit of long and 

silent hours, 
And had, we \\ell may be assured, severely tasked 

his powers. 

How Homer led his legioned words, all grand as 

Roman knights. 
Up through the Epic's long defiles to Fame's 

serenest heights — • 
The hammer fell upon a brow, bowed, some say, 

begging bread, 
Its strokes of pearl and gold have left a radiance 

round his head ! 

Powers shrunk from much-demanding Art as doubts 

his heart assail. 
Thoughts of his wife and children came, and so 

he dared not fail ! 



144 THE FA.IRY TALISMAN. 

The fairy mallet through his brain, chips out each 

marble line, 
The statue from the stone glides forth in loveliness 

divine ! 

George Stephenson — let History keep his name 
forever dear — 

Modeled his life upon this rule — to toil and per- 
severe — 

The railway network — growing still — all countries 
laid across — 

Sprang from the dauntless mind that planned the 
draining of Chat-Moss. 

We think the fairy hammer fell upon his head with 

force, 
Ere he put steam upon its track, a race-horse on 

its course, 
Fame — seeing his far-sighted mind would e'er the 

right way choose — 
Appraised him, at his evening tasks mending the 

miners' shoes. 



THE FAIRY TALISMAN. 1 45 

Morse bade the lightning turn a scribe our messages 
to trace, 

Helping far-severed lands to speak, as friends do, 
face to face. 

The magic talisman ne'er wrought better than 
through this mind, 

That gave the Telegraph to be a blessing to man- 
kind ! 

A thousand names are beacon lights of which Fame 

may discourse, 
To show what heads have bent beneath the fairy 

hammer's force, 
To prove that cleverness results from strong-willed, 

best endeavor ; 
So hath it been through all the past, so shall it 

be forever ! 



146 THE BIRDS HAVE COME AGAIN. 



THE BIRDS HAVE COME AGAIN. 

THE birds have come again, sweet harbingers 
of spring, 
And through the leafless groves they spread a 

fearless wing ; 
Why from the sunny South, its soft and spicy 

breeze, 
Took they adventurous flight for chilly airs like 

these? 
Taught by their instinct true that wintry terrors fly, 
They've come to usher in the vernal beauties nigh. 
Soon will the russet fields in emerald hues be clad, 
Soon will the cheerless woods in sun-kissed robes 

be glad ; 
Soon will the flowerets steal in blushing glory in. 
Soon will the silent brook rejoicing freedom win ; 



THE BIRDS HAVE COME AGAIN. I47 

Then will the snowy clouds the azure heav^ens sweep, 
Then will the landscape lie as if in charmed sleep ; 
Then on the breath of song will float the laughing 

hours, 
As the blithe warblers fill with melody their bowers ; 
The earth will smiles and grace and gentleness 

regain ; 
Now hastes this happy time, the birds have come 

aeain ? 



148 LIN EX-SPINNING DAYS. 



LINEN-SPINNING DAYS. 

BEHOLD the linen-spinning da\'s I 
{And wool was spun as well.) 
Then of its stores of homespun cloth. 

Each thrifty home could tell. 
From the great wheel, where busy feet 

Went pacing to and fro. 
And from the little linen wheel. 
Each day the thread must grow. 

The damsel paces back and forth. 

And sings perchance a h}-mn. 
One arm outreaching toward the wheel. 

The wheel with banded rim ; 
The other hand doth hold the thread 

Until its twist is spun ; 
And proudly she shall count her skeins 

Whene'er her task is done. 



LINEN-SPIXMN(; DAYS. I49 

Some aged dame, perhaps, would ply 

The little linen wheel, 
The wheel now set aside, since Time 

Hath shuffled a new deal. 
Or else within the drawing-room, 

'Mid bric-a-brac it stands, 
Recalling so the olden days 

And linen-spinning hands. 

The lads and lassies then were gay 

Although their work was hard, 
Although they had the flax to grow, 

The wool to spin and card ; 
Although they had the flax to grow, 

To spin, and then to weave. 
That they were happier then than now, 

These young folks, I believe. 

Ay, they were happier then than now, 

With firmer nerves and health. 
They did not spend such empty hours. 

Nor sieh so much for wealth. 



150 LTNEX-SPrXXTNG DAYS. 

Then did not shirr, and phiit. and frill. 

So much the purse distress ; 
The\' were not slaves to fashion-plates. 

In their plain homespun dress. 

Home life was dear, and nature sweet, 

O, then as well as now ; 
Young feet could stray along the vale. 

Or climb the mountain's brow. 
The berries reddened in the grass, 

Or purpled in the hedge. 
The rose, and honeysuckle wild, 

They bloomed along the ledge. 

When looms, domestic, ceased to weave. 

And wheel forgot to spin, 
The sanded floor was seen no more, 

And carpets were brought in. 
Then hospitality declined. 

The social life less free, 
And Friendship, though she lived, seemed not, 

What Friendship used to be. 



l.LNEN-SPINMXO DAYS. 13I 

To watch by sick beds, and to help 

The husking — quilting-bee, 
To go for the whole afternoon, 

When asked to come to tea, 
To meet at eve round blazing hearth, 

In groups to chat or smg, 
Were customs, and they did no doubt 

Much friendly feeling bring. 

When winter came, and snow-drifts gleamed 

Like marble, pale and cool, 
The sleigh-bells jingled on the road. 

On towards the singing-school. 
Then the exciting spelling match. 

For every week was planned, 
And whoso'er spelled down the school, 

Did greatest praise command. 

A friend, most dear, describes to me 
These scenes and old-time ways ; 

Her early memories reach the last 
Of linen-spinning days. 



152 LINEN-SPINNING DAYS. 

These days seem pleasant to recall, 
Because they're quaint and old, 

And as a realm we have not seen, 
Our interest they hold. 



THE GYPSEYS' HOME. 1 53 



THE GYPSEYS' HOME. 



Written on seeing a picture of a collection of Gypseys on a moon- 
light night, at a ruined castle beside a river. 



NIGHT reigneth in her gentlest power, 
And the moon's pure, silvery sheen 
Veileth in the midnight hour, 
■"'V A wild, romantic scene ; 
A ruined castle, ivy-grown, 
Standeth near a forest lone, 
Of a most Rembrandt-ish tone, 
A river rolls between. 

A softened radiance is sleeping 
On the lonely structure's height, 

Yet near its darkened base are leaping 
Flames of ruddy light. 



f54 THE GYPSEVS HOME. 

While the smoke is wafted slowly 
To yon arches dark and lowly ; 
Fleeing from those moonbeams holy. 
It seeks the gloom of night. 

And the flashes are revealing 

Groups of forms in strange attire, 
That with stealthy step are stealing 

Round the pleasant fire ; 
Three crossed sticks to hold a pot on, 
Make their household hearth, there's not on 
Their list home comfort, so they plod on. 
At Vagrancy's desire. 

See, there's one who stands bare-headed, 

Though the night air is so chill ; 
He seems one that's to be dreaded. 

His dark eye bodes ill. 
A broken pan he'll mend quite neatly, 
He sings Rommany songs most sweetly, 
He'll cheat you at horse trades, completely, 
A reckless lad is Will. 



TflE GYPSEYS HOME. 155 

See that form so lithe and slender, 
Cheek of rose and brow of tan. 

And the firelight it doth lend her 
All the glow it can ; 

She rides the panniered horse most bravely. 

She'll tell your fortune, too, quite gravely. 

For broad gold piece, tell it suavely, 
And this is handsome Nan. 

In lanes where roses wild are glowing, 

By hedges where the berries grow, 
In glen, where pebbly stream is flowing, 

There the Gypseys go. 
The coppice where spring buds are swelling, 
And where the birds their joys are telling, 
The common, far from any dwelling, 
These the Gypseys know. 

And why beside the rolling river, 
By the tower with crumbling frieze, 

Whose leaves of ivy ceaseless shiver 
In the chilling breeze, 



156 THE GYPSEYS' HOME. 

Do these strange-robed beings roam ? 
They come to make yon ruhied dome. 
To-night the wanderer's transient home ;- 
And wandering Gypseys these 1 



UNLUCKY WORDS. 1 57 



UNLUCKY WORDS. 



' An unlucky word cannot be brought back by a coach and six." 

— Chinese Saying 



IF coach and six could bring to us 
The words which we deplore, 
We'd start this coach in greater haste 

Than e'er was known before. 
Far better were it if we could 

These reckless words restrain, 
Then memory would not bring to us 
Such bitterness and pain. 

But no, we cannot bring them back, 

Desire it as we may; 
They are like birds that once escaped 

Will own no more our sway : 



158 UNLUCKY WORDS. 

'' Like letters in a post-box dropped, 
They're quite beyond recall," 

And Conscience sets her stamp on each, 
And weighs them one and all. 

Unlucky words, and what are they? 

They are such words as fall. 
When anger, folly, scorn, deceit. 

Exert their baneful thrall. 
Unlucky for the one who speaks, 

And for the one who hears ; 
Unlucky in the present time. 

And in the after years. 

Then let us watch the words we breathe, 

The import that they bear; 
Make kindness, sense, sincerity. 

And gentleness, our care; 
Then ours would all be lucky words. 

Whence happiness would spring ; 
Then coach and six to bring them back 

Were not a needed thing. 



THE SERENADE. I 59 



THE SERENADE. 

THERE'S seldom a guest at the old house of 
stone, 
Mrs. Lee, with her servants, Hves there quite alone ; 
But her nieces are coming, a few weeks to stay, 
Two cousins, young ladies, both charming and gay, 
The raven-haired Maude, and the little blonde May. 

The sunlight streams into the quaint drawing-room. 
Lighting up the old portraits, long shrouded in 

gloom. 
See the old-time piano, Maud's skillful hand there, 
Is touching the keys to the loveliest air. 
Till a flower bank blossoms in tones rich and rare. 

May sits by the window, and bends her fair head 
O'er her needle-work, gay with silk floss, and gold 
thread ; 



l6o THE SERENADE. 

She smiles as she hears an exquisite refrain, 
She builds in the music her " Castles in Spain," 
As the birds in the boughs, visions haunt every 
strain. 



On the mantle the vases are heaped up with bloom 
The sweets of the garden brought into the room ; 
On the table a basket of ferns is displayed. 
Suggesting the mossed rock, the wild path, the 

glade, 
Of the woodland through which the young ladies 

have strayed. 



Aunty Lee is delighted with Maud and with May; 
In the pleasantest converse the hours pass away. 
Maud's laugh is so mirthful you join in her glee, 
She makes the room cheerful where e'er she 

may be. 
With song, and with story, and gay repartee. 



THE SERENADE. l6l 

May has such pretty fancies, Uke " diamonds and 

pearls " 
They fall from the lips of this sweetest of girls. 
Whatever she weareth seems tasteful and rare, 
E'en a daisy wreath dazzles when twined in her 

hair, 
And her fan waves a mesmeric charm on the air. 

May does china painting in some leisure hours, 
She'll deck a plain tea-cup with exquisite flowers ; 

She paints, too, on satin, the loveliest things, 

Fairies, cupids, and birds, with rich tropical 

wings. 

May's shapely white hands are a-glitter with 

rings. 

How oft, from the village, the young people bend 
Their steps to the mansion an evening to spend ; 
The house with a social delight is aglow, 
Young faces, glad voices, in tones sweet and low, 
Bring back the gay scenes of the years long ago. 



l62 THE SERENADE. 

From the trees which the mossy old mansion 

surround, 
A serenade breathes its enchantment around. 
Maud was blest with sweet dreams and was vexed 

to awake, 
What are dreams? They are bubbles, when brightest 

they break ; 
Or butterflies flirting with flowers they forsake. 



May woke, and the serenade hailed with delight, 
O, what is so lovely as music at night ? 
What is music? The surf on a spirit world's beach, 
Jacob's ladder where angels glide. down to Earth's 

reach, 
A sweet, universal, and infinite speech ! 



Aunty Lee had not slept, thought had chased 

sleep away. 
Soon far East goes Maud, and soon far West 

goes May. 



THK SERENADE. 163 

Then from mantle and table die fragrance and 

bloom, 
Then song and gay laughter shall flee from the 

room, 
Then the old house sinks back into silence and 

gloom. 



164 AT THE GRAND HOTEL. 



AT THE GRAND HOTEL. 

ON "The Grand Hotel's" piazza, 
Breathing the morning air, 
Behold the belle of the season — • 

Her father's a millionaire — 
She has suitors in plenty. 

She is witty and fair, 
Her dresses are brought from Paris, 
Her gems are many and rare. 

Her jeweled hand is busy 

In passing to and fro 
Ov^er a strip of canvas. 

Where strange devices grow. 
She's working a fierce-eyed griffon, 

With wings of golden glow. 
But she watches the while, intently. 

Where some promenaders go. 



AT THE GRAND HOTEL. 165 

How she stabs at the eye of the griffon, 

With her needle for a lance ; 
Watching two lovers where they walk, 

And jealous of every glance ; 
She watched the same last evening, 

As they whirled through the dizzy dance. 
How she hates her beautiful rival, 

And looks at her askance. 

The rival that won the fickle heart 

She once deemed all her own ; 
See, now they walk from the crowd apart, 

And talk in a low, sweet tone. 
The gold and gems of fairy-land 

Are over t//i-ir pathway thrown. 
To the embroiderer life is drear, 

For her brightest dream is flown. 

Work on at the grotesque grifTon, 

With crewels and flosses gay, 
There's a far more hideous monster 

Than this that is stitched to-day. 



1 66 



AT THE GRAND HOTEI.. 



A monster of sharpest talons, 
That makes the heart its prey 

'Tis jealousy far more cruel 
Than words may dare to say. 



THE HORSE-SHOE. 1 67 



O 



THE HORSE-SHOE. 

"Better liorn lucky than rich." 

NCE as old Star-face jogged along he chanced 
to cast a shoe, 
This was a very simple thing, that any horse 

might do ; 
A tramp came plodding on, and picked the curve 

of iron up, 
And scanned it eagerly, as if it were a golden cup ; 
From this he planned a better shoe, as in his hand 

it laid, 
llien patented the lucky thought, and so his fortune 

made. 

A plain-faced girl, in simple dress, went to a bril- 
liant ball, 

She had not thought that any one would notice 
her at all ; 



1 6s THE HORSE-SHOE. 

A tiny horse-shoe, made of flowers, adorned her 

» golden hair, 
A millionaire admiring this, doth deem her passing; 

fair ; 
He asks her oft to dance, and thinks she has most 

lovely eyes. 
He is her partner now for life, her matrimonial 

prize. 



A young man toiling at a forge, had thought his 

life most drear. 
He would have chosen, if he could, the artist's 

bright career. 
Fair visions mocked him, hammering, to earn his 

daily bread. 
He took a horse-shoe to his room, and hung it 

overhead. 
Next day a letter came to him, a gleam of kinder 

fate, 
A distant relative had left to him a large estate. 



THE HORSE-SHOE. 169 

A house-wife \X'xed b\' many cares, wore e'er a 

brow of gloom, 
The dust, the flies, the carpet-moth, she said, 

assailed each room. 
A horse-shoe, made of painted silk, was sent her 

by a friend. 
It seemed her fretful murmurings, and nervousness 

to end 
Like magic, now she works and sings, her cares 

do much abate ; 
She is as happy as a child that swings upon a 

eate. 



A farmer delved a thankless soil, and knew but 

Fortune's frown ; 
His crops were bad, his cattle died, his fences 

were blown down. 
He said, " I weary of this life, for better days 

I've struck, 
I'll nail a horse-shoe to my door, and try my 

chance for luck." 



I/O THE HORSE-SHOE. 

His plow-share threw before his feet some lumps 

of shinincr ore, 
He owns a lead-mine now, and bides with poverty 

no more. 

Better born lucky than born rich, the proverb doth 
declare. 

Luck puts a sure foundation 'neath our castle in 
the air. 

O, wave o'er us the fairy wand of that godmother, 
Luck, 

And then, though dragons guard each prize. Life's 
golden fruits we'll pluck. 

Then let us hang, with buoyant hopes, the horse- 
shoe o'er the door, 

And trust that lucky stars shall smile on us for- 
evermore. 



DRESSED FOR THE BALL. 171 



DRESSED FOR THE BALL. 

VERY mucli flattered am I with a call 
From Harry and Mollie, both dressed for a 
ball. 
A more charming couple one seldom doth meet- 
He's g-enial and witty, she's winning and sweet. 
Righth' he weareth a sword by his side, 
For he served in the war and the rebel defied ; 
And finely he looks in a suit inilitairc, — 
And she's fair as the white rose that gleams in her 
hair. 

Isn't she lovely in ball-dress arrayed ? 

An exquisite silk of pale cameo shade — 

The brown tresses shading a forehead of snow, 

And the fair, rounded cheek, like a rose in its glow ; 



\J2 DKLISSEU FOR THE BALL. 

The look of intelligence, lighting a face 

That is dimpled and smiling as infantile grace — 

Make her bright as some butterfly, breathing but 

bloom, 
Or some fairy that brings fairy-land in the room. 

The dreariest path is e'er blessed with some flower. 
And the loneliest life hath some radiant hour; 
For beauty, and brightness, and sparkles of mirth. 
Like fountains, must sometimes refresh the dull 

earth. 
So I thought, as 1 prided m}\self in a call 
From Mollie and Harrv, both dressed for a ball. 



CLEMATIS AND APRICOTS. 17^ 



CLEMATIS AND APRICOTS. 

MANY sweet, contrasting hues, 
My day-dream, fair, discloses- 
Clematis bloom, and apricots. 
Grapes purple, yellow roses. 

Lovely tint of pink-lined shell. 
Sea-green waves recalling ; 

Amber clouds, transfused with gold, 
O'er red sunset falling. 

Flame-hued poppies in the corn, 

Brightly they are glowing, 
Palest saffron, deepest blue, 

In parterres are showing. 



174 CLKIMATIS AND Al'RIC(VrS. 

What subtile charm of blue and L;recii 
In \ i(^lcl-b.uiks of sweetness, 

What hues the huinniin^-binls tHsphi\'. 
In neaut)''s own completeness. 

Birds-egi^' blue in i;ra\--bi\)\\n nest 
Childhood's i\eart enlr.inces; 

Changeful shatU^s on pigeon's l)reasl 
Win aihiiiring glances. 

Forget-me-not, and pale, blush rose. 
Bloom fair in summei- weather; 

The faintest blue, the jialest pink. 
Look lo\-el)- when together. 

Buttercups in meadows green 

Glow with golden lustre. 
And all around them, in full growth, 

White-capi:)ed daisies cluster. 

Blue eyes antl fair golden hair 
Best combine their graces. 

The)- remind me, too, of one 
Of earth's most charming faces; 



CLEMATIS A.\J) AI'RJCDTS. ly. 

Face that flashes hke a star 

Across my fairest vision, 
Face I trust that I shall meet 

Amon^^ the joys Elysian .' 



176 THE BACHELOR BUTTON. 



T 



THE BACHELOR BUTTON. 



HIS is the Cornflower which the Germans 



praise, 

It is old Kaiser WilHam's favorite flower; 
Bachelor Button 'tis in English phrase, 
And dearly prized in every garden bower. 

The bachelor who e'er adorned his coat 
With such a button, beautiful and bright, 

Was one on whom society would dote, 

Was one whose genial manners gave delight. 

Ah, did he not that brilliant converse hold 

Which draws all minds " to its strong toil of 
grace !" 

Did he not shine just like a thread of gold 

'Mongst other people who were common place? 



MAY DAY. 177 



MAY DAY. 

" 'Twas on the morn of sweet May day, 
When Nature painted all things gay, 
Taught birds to sing and lambs to play, 
And gild the meadows rare." 

— Old Song. 

OVER a book of crabbed Greek, had flown 
the morning hours, 

When chanced the student to look forth upon the 
orchard bowers, 

Down went the book, the youth strolled forth be- 
neath the apple trees, 

Whose fragrant blossoms, pink and white, allured 
the murmurous bees. 

" Of sweeter scene than this," he cried, " has poet 
ever sung? 

Despite her ancient monuments, the world looks 
fair and young. 



1/8 MAV DAY. 

And, O, that breeze from off the hills, it is a 

draught divine ! 
It stimulates the nerves and brain like quafifing 
rare old wine !" 



The farmer drove his team afield, and whistled on 
his way, 

Whistled the notes that matched the words in some 
old song of May. 

Rejoiced he in his acres broad, and in his wood- 
land fair, 

And that his life was quite exempt from indoor 
toil and care. 

The pleasant spring-time took him back to child- 
hood's happy hours. 

When he had searched the hills and vales for bird's 
nests and for flowers ; 

He heard the gurgling of the brook as when he 
waded in. 

Or stood upon its banks and fished for minnows 
with a pin. 



MAY DAY. 179 

The poet flung aside his pen, and then some fools 

cap tore, 
So unsuccessful had he been he thought he'd write 

no more. 
But mossy banks and ferny dells where woodland 

echoes ring, 
Prompt such sweet fancies that his Muse enweaves 

an Ode to Spring. 
Such odes shall fill waste-baskets, and the Editors 

shall tease, 
Until they cry, " No more of that, O, bardlings, 

if you please I" 
Still toward this Mecca of a theme winds a long 

caravan, 
And each in his fond dreams expects to proudl)' 

lead the van. 



O, see beneath yon chestnut trees those lovers 

slowly walk ; 
" A Paradise Regained " is in their smiles and 

pleasant talk. 



fcSo MAY DAY'. 

Spring breathes to them her sweetest songs, and 

brightly on them beams. 
We bless all lovers, for they lend the Earth romantic 

dreams. 
See the fond shepherds, flower-cro\\-ned, within an 

Age of Gold. 
They dance to s\'lvan strains, or tend the " drowsy 

tinkling" fold. 
On velvet greenswards where they rove no frost 

blight may we scan ; 
How lovely is a pastoral scene — upon a Watteau 

fan ! 



An old swain \\'ith a hawthorne sprig adorns his 

snowy vest ; 
Some romance of his early years, most dear, is 

unconfess'd. 
He sighs, sometimes, when he recalls visions of 

faces fair ; 
He keeps old letters, old bouquets, hidden away 

with care. 



MAY DAY. I8l 

He linked his arm within ei friend's, and o'er the 

primrose meads. 
He walked, and talked in tones grown soft as 

whispering of reeds; 
That siren, Spring, with balmy breath freshened 

his withered cheek, 
And of the old-time love-affairs she prompted him 

to speak. 



The child within the doorway stands, her doll upon 
her arm ; 

She hails the glad, spring morning, and she feels 
its subtle charm. 

She sees the butterfly — gay craft that on the sun- 
beam floats ; 

She hears the feathered choristers pour out their 
tuneful notes ; 

She sees the bee whose coat is trimmed with bands 
of yellow plush ; 

She sees prismatic dew-drops on the meadow-grasses 
lush ; 



1 82 MAY DAY. 

She thinks of one long day of play — and then she 
laughs outright, 

Because her heart brims o'er with joy, the Spring- 
time is so bright. 



While lilacs nod their purple plumes, and all about 

our feet 
Blue violets sprinkled o'er the sod, look up, so 

" dainty sweet ;" 
While woods are fair, and hills are green, and 

laughing brooklets run ; 
And while Earth is a smiling nymph, enmantled 

by the Sun ; 
While skies are blue, and clouds are white, or there 

are rainbowed showers ; 
While sweet winds breathe of leafy nooks, and 

wealth of wildwood flowers ; 
So long the Poets will insist on writing vernal lays. 
To love the Spring-time, is to praise the Author 

of all days ! 



A PLAQUE. 183 



A PLAQUE. 

Representing Cupid brushing the dust from the Daisy. 

IT isn't true to life at all, 
The subject of this plaque ; 
How can he see to brush the dust 
Since he all sight doth lack! 

Don't set him to the housemaid's task 

He isn't of that ilk; 
He's pretty worked in shining floss 

On velvet or on silk. 

He's pretty in the courtship days 

Wearing his roses fair. 
Sometimes he leaves the married ones 

But discontent and care. 



1 84 A PLAQUE. 

O, very little judgment lies 

Within his curly pate ; 
He sometimes sadly shows the world 

How hearts he can mis-mate. 

Yes : Cupid is a reckless wight, — 

And then, he is a flat ! 
He's quite too blind to brush the dust 

From off the Daisy's hat ! 



Yes: Love is silly, Love is blind, 
And yet he's very sweet ! 

And so you see he rules the world. 
The thralldom is complete ! 



THE WOODEN HILL. 1 85 



THE WOODEN HILL. 

ILHvE this term some give the stairs, 
Its quaintness haunts me still, 
The stairs are very well described 
When called " The wooden hill." 

Oh, every night, to gain my room, 

I struggle up this hill. 
Glad, or despondent, as the day 

Has passed on well, or ill. 

I often seek some quiet room 

Above the wooden hill. 
To pen some weird, fantastic rhyme. 

That doth my spirit fill. 



1 86 THE WOODEN HILL. 

I sing of flowers and summer hours, 

I little speak of woe; 
Oh, angels bright, pray guide my flight. 

As up Life's hill I go ! 

When I have reached my lonely room 

Sometimes about me lies, 
Strange, misty dreams of other lands, 

And fairer, far-ofY skies. 

I dream, too, of the promised land 

Of ever-happy hours. 
Of fairy vales, and terraced heights. 

And dazzling walls and towers ! 

Fair as the primrose of the eve. 
Sweet as the wind-harp's tone. 

Soft as the airs of spring, these dreams 
Are o'er my spirit thrown. 

I dream sometimes, with wistful thought, 

Of faces dear as. flowers. 
That once, like music's sweetest strain. 

Lent joy to charmed hours. 



THE WOODEN HILL. 1 8/ 

I dream sometimes of palaces, 

And stairways grand and old, 
Where proud dame walked in silk attire, 

Or knight 'neath casque of gold. 

Sometimes I glide adown the stairs 

Humming some simple thing, 
Some olden song which round the hearth, 

My granclsire used to sing. 

Sometimes with slow and lazy step 

The steepy stair I climb. 
Repeating for my own delight, 

Some author's dainty rhyme. 

Sometimes at eve I climb the hill 

A melancholy wight. 
Because so little I have gained 

From the day's rapid flight. 

Climbing this hill why should I vex 

Myself with any care. 
Since life so soon will urge her step 

Along the golden stair ! 



THE BUTTERFLY. 



THE BUTTERFLY. 

I CAUGHT the splendid rover and I pinned 
him on a card, 
And if he could have sj^oken, he had called such 
treatment hard. 

I took him from his well-loved flowers, and from 

his summer sky ; 
When his brief life was in gay prime 'twas sad 

for him to die. 

If this ephemeral life of his is all that he can 

claim, 
For cutting short his little day, myself I greatly 

blame. 

'Tis not as when these human souls do suffering 

bemoan. 
For well shall their immortal years for all earth's 

ills atone ! 



THE TULIP. 189 



THE TULIP. 

WHAT cup is this that is so fine, 
Where streaks of gold and crimson shine, 
And which seems moulded out of pearl, 
Whose brim hath such a dainty curl. 
What cup is this ? 

Whose cup is this ? Is it some King's ? 
And did it grace his banquetings ? 
At feasts Olympian did it clink ? 
Did Hebe pass it round for drink? 

For nectared drink ? 

With Orient splendors o'er it shed 
'Tis gay as any turbaned head ; 
Once the . Dutch speculator's theme, 
'Tis gorgeous as a hasheesh dream ; 

Fair, waking dream. 



IQO THE TULIP. 

This cup doth not with dani^"er shine. 
It dotli not know the mad'ning vine. 
It doth not e'er the brain abuse, 
'Tis onh' mantled by the dews ; 

The peaceful dews. 

Who painted it so very gay ? 
No artist of the present day, 
Though having the aesthetic craze. 
Could paint one half so worthy praise 
Who painted this? 

This cup a masterpiece doth shine, 
'Tis painted by a Hand Divine ! 
'Tis owned and fashioned by a King, 
And lent to Nature's banqueting; 

Great is this Kinfj ! 



TIME OF DAY. 191 



TIME OF DAY. 



IN the wide hall the ancient clock, with face 
broad as the moon, 
Speaks without words, and says, "Just now has 

passed the hour of noon." 
'Tis One, this number's symbol then I curiously 

scan, 
It 'minds me of One Great, First Cause, One 

Universal Plan. 
It 'minds me, too, of One Great Heart, filled with 

a love profound. 
So that " One sparrow shall not fall unheeded to 

the ground." 
One is companionless, it means to mortal solitude ; 
Where social charm or sympath)' is wont not to 

intrude. 



192 TIME OF DAY. 

II. 
The clock strikes Two. Two, liand in hand, stray- 
down the paths of Time ; 
A loving pair, such as once dwelt in Eden's happy 

clime. 
Two typifies Wealth's great estate and Poverty's 

pinched form, 
Folly and wisdom, good and guile, the sunshine 

and the storm. 
Two for the moth and chrysalis, for silence and 

for speech, 
For time and for infinitude which cycles cannot 

reach. 
And two may stand for moonless night and for 

the morning ray. 
And two may stand for spirit form and form that's 

made of clay. 



TIME OF DAY. 1 93 

III. 
Just chiming three. In the parterre, where sweetest 

flowers unclose, 
Behold three Queens, the Violet, the Lily, and the 

Rose. 
In old Mythology there are Three Graces, and 

Three Fates. 
Upon the Prism touched by light the Rainbow 

ever waits. 
There are three colors, primitive, within the 

spectrum's bound; 
There are three notes involving all in music's happy 

sound. 
Three lurks beneath each Gothic arch in minsters 

old and gray. 
With t]iree, a body and two wings, the white dove 

soars away. 



194 TIME OF DAY. 

IV. 
A slow and solemn hand marks Four upon the 

dial's face. 
Some heraldries there are enwrought upon the 

field of space, 
In very ancient quarterings — North, South, and 

East, and West ; 
Four are the Virtues, Cardinal, each has a high 

behest. 
Four Elements there are, diverse, Fire, Water, 

Earth, and Air ; 
Oh, how much loveliness and strength these forces 

can declare I 
Four Seasons o'er this planet pass, through verdure 

or through snow. 
Forever whirling on and on, as merry waltzers go. 



TIME OF DAY. I95 

♦ V. 

Strikes Five. Upon the five-zoned earth five dif- 
ferent races dwell, 
And in their varying arts of life their power and 

progress tell. 
The mortal from his Maker takes gifts of a wondrous 

worth ! 
'Mongst these, five senses to perceive the glories 

of the Earth. 
'Tis good to breathe the scented flower — hear 

music on the air — 
To grasp and taste the gleaming fruits, whose 

flavors are so rare — 
But 'tis such rapture to behold bright colors, and 

the light, 
'Tis joy to say, " We bless Thee, Lord, who gave 

to us our sight !" 



196 TIME OF DAY. 

VI. 
The tongue of Time has uttered Six. A golden 

palace lies, 
With rooms six-sided, honey-filled, beneath the 

sunny skies. 
Six properties all matter has ; Inertia must 

declare 
A moving force to govern these, the God that's 

everywhere ! 
How beautiful snow crystals are 'neath microscopic 

view ! 
They glitter in six dazzling points, all jeweled 

through and through. 
Six figures o'er the chess-board move, like people 

o'er a lawn, 
Bishop and Castle, King and Queen, Knight and 

the humble Pawn. 



TIME OF DAY. I97 

VII. 

The Seventh hour. Ay, this suggests, within the 

olden time, 
" The Seven Wonders of the World," so lovely, so 

sublime ! 
Yet wonders far surpassing these adorn the present 

Far grander than the Pyramids is one Steam-printed 
Page ! 

Better than Pleasure Gardens in Babylon's domain 

That miracle Chloroform, blest antidote to pain ! 

Sewing-Machine, and Telegraph, and magic Tele- 
phone, 

The Railway Car, the Photograph, to-day we're 
proud to own ! 

VIII. 
'Tis Eight o'clock. O'er octaves sweet what skillful 

fingers stray. 
What brilliant notes, in merry bursts, like fireflies 

whirl away. 



198 TIME OF DAY. 

Oh, joy-inspiring melodies! ye cannot but recall 
The rhythmic tread of many feet within the dancing 

hall ! 
Four couples fill each gay quadrille, and glide to 

happy hours ; 
How lovely do the ladies look in bright robes 

decked with flowers. 
Here Memory shall garner up fair visions for that 

page 
That is to cheer the loneliness, the weariness of Age. 



rx. 
Just Nine o'clock. 'Neath Grecian skies Nine Muses 

once held sway ; 
In Science, Letters, and in Art, they rule no less 

to-day. 
Thalia, Melpomene, wdiat charms ye can around 

us throw, 
Where dazzling scenery is set, and foot-lights are 

aglow ! 



TIME OF DAY. I99 

If lonely, we've companionship — the player's smiling 
face, 

If humble, here we may enjoy splendor and high- 
born grace. 

It is a boon to us, sometimes, to look on scenes 
so fair, 

It lifts the mind from channels made by daily toil 
and care. 



X. 

A tiny hammer strikes the bell Ten times. That 

number, Ten, 
Can push a row of figures on beyond all mortal ken. 
Infinite series, that can reach the farthest star we 

trace. 
Goes not beyond Creation's verge. There is no 

utter space ! 
Ten brings to mind The Decalogue. 'Tis certain 

as the day, 
That if poor mortals only would its teachings wise 

obey, 



200 TIME OF DAY. 

That War would never come again with its un- 
numbered woes, 

And that " Earth's desert places, all, would blossom 
as the rose." 

XI. 

A sudden clangor speaks Eleven. How soon an 

evening's past. 
Life's counted by those ceaseless ticks, and Oh, it 

goes so fast ! 
Old Saturn's scythe, with undulled edge, mows 

down the passing hours, 
Unheeding whether they are weeds, or most 

exquisite flowers! 
The laborers to the vineyard called were laggards 

and came late. 
And yet the Lord gave each full wage, His mercy 

was so great ! 
All of the good and beautiful we have so toiled 

to find, 
Must here, or otherwhere, be ours, the Master is 

so kind ! 



TIME OF DAY. 201 

XII. 

'Tis Twelve. The long hand of the clock the circle 

has gone round. 
Twelve months in the completed year like sheaf 

of wheat are bound. 
In that Celestial City where no midnight gloom 

may fall, 
Twelve precious stones are clearly set within the 

Jasper wall. 
This is the hour when, some do think, that spirits 

haunt the night. 
And walk the old familiar rooms in robes of dazzling 

white ! 
This is the hour when weary thought retires from 

lofty themes. 
For drowsy Day must lose her way in peaceful, 

happy dreams ! 



2Q2 VIRGINIA. 



VIRGINIA. 

Played by Miss Gertrude Kellogg. 

THIS is Virginia's self, so sweet and faii% 
Her girlish accents and her step of air ; 
With all her pretty ways adorning home, 
Leading our thoughts, as captives, back to Rome. 

Just such a being with her wild-rose face, 
Her willowy form and movements of rare grace 
Could rouse all hearts in pity for her fate. 
To crush the Tyrant and redeem the State ! 

Acting needs be consummate Art, 'tis true. 
Yet here is Nature shining sweetly through. 
Intent on playing well Virginia's part, 
The lovely Actress wins, herself, the heart ! 



VIRGINIA. 203 

Virginius! "Grandest Roman of them all!" 
Holds all the drama's votaries in his thrall ; 
To call him kingly is but " Caesar's due, 
But a new star beside him breaks in view ! 

Oh ! let the air, which melodies rejoice. 

Keep in remembrance her exquisite voice 

With which she charmed the hours that were too 

fleet, 
" And ever after breathe more balmy sweet." 



204 THE VrOLIN. 



THE VIOLIN. 

I LOOK upon a violin 
That rests within its case, 
It hes untuned, some rosin dust 
Is scattered o'er its face. 

It is the dear old violin 

My Father used to play, 
Its joyous tones have cheered our hearts 

In many a by-gone day. 

My Father made this violin — 

The instrument is good — 
I saw him carve it, day by day. 

And shape it from the wood. 



THE VIOLIN. 205 

Sweet melodies of many lands 

Have echoed from this shell ; 
My Father played how many tunes, 

And played them passing well. 

I almost think to hear him now, 

When day is growing dusk, 
Wake "Annie Laurie's" plaintive strains. 

Or merry " Money Musk." 

How oft when evening shadows fell 

Grotesquely on the wall, 
My fancies, like gay servitors. 

Came forth at Music's call. 

I heard sweet measures, saw bright forms 

Waltz in saloons so grand ! 
'Neath olive boughs, I saw glad groups 

Dancing the saraband. 

I saw the stately minuet 

Danced in baronial halls, 
Saw dame and knight in rich attire, 

Within emblazoned walls. 



206 THE VIOLIN. 

Some strains evoked bright revelries 

Beneath the tropic stars, 
The scents of jasmine, and of rose, 

The tinkhng of guitars. 

I heard Scotch music, O, so sweet 
That every heart it thrills ! 

And saw the whitening cascades fall 
Dow^i heather-covered hills. 

Gay visions dwell in music's- strain, 
As in the sunbeam motes. 

Gay visions, like wreathed dancing-girls. 
Glide to the passing notes. 

We miss the violin's sweet tones. 
Its tunes now flown away, 

But O, we miss the player more ! 
We miss him every day ! 

Whoe'er m.y Father's life reviews. 
Must praise to him award ; 

His life was good, and true, and seemed 
Like notes in sweet accord. 



THE VIOLIN, 207 

The music of the higher life 

With so much rapture teems, 
My Father will not miss these strings 

That woke to earthly themes. 

It is the dear old violin 

On which my Father played, 
Across this silent finger-board 

His tuneful hand oft strayed. 

* * ^v * -;f * * ■» 

No other hand shall draw the bow- 
Across a single string, 

This violin is set apart. 
It is a sacred thins. 



2o8 THE FARM-HOUSE GATE. 



THE FARM-HOUSE GATE. 

THE winter wind, with surf-like tone, beats on 
the window-pane — 
And visions from the by-gone years throng on my 

sleepless brain ; 
I see my childhood's home again, and in their 

wonted state, 
Old friends, some are but phantoms now, glide 
through the farm-house gate. 

With merry greetings, careless jests and laughter 
ringing free, 

They ope the gate that swings beneath the honey- 
locust tree ; 

They come and help us to discuss the topics of 
the day, 

Its fashions and its politics — bubbles now blown 
away. 



THE FARM-HOUSE GATE. 209 

Round open doorways do they group and talk 
away the time, 

Or round some window vine-embowered in sum- 
mer's golden prime ; 

Youth's glamour robed for me these guests and 
gave their sayings worth — 

The winter wind is wailing now o'er all their van- 
ished mirth. 

Again, a simple-hearted child, I watch with thought 

elate, 
When the new carriage, first brought home, rolls 

through the open gate ; 
Oh, now a regal coach, with steeds of Dexter's 

rapid flight, 
Would to my disenchanted eyes prove ne'er so 

fine a sight. 

And through the gate the wagon jolts with bulk 

of hay o'er-lapped, 
So very like a little head with learning over-capped. 



2rO THE FARM-HOUSE GATE. 

On sunny morns what clipping scythes mowed 

down that scented hay, 
As fragrant as the memories of childhood's happy 

day. 

Again I leave the district school, and keep the 
dusty way, 

Swinging my basket and my books, with all my 
" castles " gay. 

A Conqueror in geography runs through the farm- 
house gate. 

One who has named each Capital and bounded 
every State. 

Again, at eve I listen to the city's distant hum. 
Waiting beside the farm-house gate till Pa and Ma 

shall come. 
No wheels go rumbling o'er the road unnoted by 

my ear, 
I know our horses' hoof-falls long before they 

patter near. 



THE FARM-HOUSE GATE. 211 

I wait till constellations build their temples, star 

by star, 
Placing before a far-off realm a golden gate and 

bar — 
The tuft of jonquils at my feet grows dusky as I 

wait, 
The jonquils whose sweet blossoms shone beside 

the farm-house gate. 

I think of flowery wood-paths where my careless 
footsteps prest, 

Of greenest meadows where I found the lily's 
spotted vest ; 

Of orchards, with their branches bent beneath their 
fruitage weight 

And of fair gardens, as I think of that old farm- 
house gate. 

The wind may take a wailing tone, for Life has 

had its gloom — 
The wind may wake its harmonies for childhood's 

hours of bloom — 



212 THE FARM-HOUSE GATE. 

I hear the striking of the clock, the night is 
wearing late — 

Yet still I talk with Memory beside the farm- 
house gate. 



THE SINGER OF ONE SONG. 2n, 



THE SINGER OF ONE SONG. 

T T is a glorious thing to wear 
^ The Poet's well-earned bays, 
To trace fair 'broidery of words 
To charm the coming days ; 

To write grand epics that shall send 
Their echoes down the Age, 

To breathe such lyrics as shall please 
The scholar and the sage. 

Blind Homer's lines glow in the eyes 

Of an admiring world ! 
And glorious Shakespeare is a host 

With banners all unfurled ! 

Scott's mind is variously rich, 

Like great Achilles' shield; 
While many a worthy leader more, 

Wins in the lettered field. 



214 THE SINGER OF ONE SONG. 

And yet, though clazzhng is the fame 

Of this illustrious throng, 
Sometimes all hearts thrill more unto 

The Writer of one Song. 

Like " Home, Sweet Home," or dearer yet, 
That quaint " Auld Robin Gray;" 

Such rainbows, made of smiles and tears, 
Must always win their way. 

Though Summer's sweetest songsters sing. 

Where woodlands vocal be. 
One plaintive bird may charm us more. 

Beneath the old roof tree. 

How grand the power of those few words 
Breathed with no seeming art, 

That can outreach the proudest lays. 
And thrill a Nation's heart ! 



THE HUNTED DEER. 21 5 



THE HUNTED DEER. 

THE beautiful deer, 
With his pretty, brown eye 
He has no wings. 

Yet he ahnost can fly 



When he runs for his life 
In a wild, breathless race, 

As the red hunter gives him 
A desperate chase. 

The weary, red hunter, 
His foot vuist be fleet. 

For his squaw and papooses 
Have nothing to eat ! 

Now the deer that has gained 
A great cliff, beetling high, 

Stands outlined in beauty 
Against the blue sky. 



2l6 THE HUNTED DEER. 

His antlers outspread 

Like the branches of trees, 

And his delicate nostrils 
Inhale the pure breeze. 

Like the one that pursues him, 
He loves the green wood. 

Its tangles and pathways 
For ever seem good. 

He loves the vast boughs 
Spreading over the earth, 

'Neath them the Great Spirit 
Hath given him birth. 

He loves, too, his life. 

And of death hath a dread. 

Yet the red hunter marks him — 
The arrow hath sped ! 



FASTINC. 217 



FASTING. 

WOULD you win sudden fame, and a name 
that's world-noted ? 
And see in the papers your sayings all quoted? 
Then the cupboard forbear, in a heroic manner. 
And follow the lead of abstemious Tanner. 

Could we live without eating, these words we 

would utter : 
" No more will we toil to procure bread and butter. 
We'll devour not the beasts, nor the fowls, nor 

the fishes ; 
We'll give up all cooking, and washing of dishes." 

The old heads, so wise in their planning and toiling, 
Who say of young dreams, " They'll not keep the 
pot boiling," 



2l8 FASTING. 

No more should expect one to be a bread winner, 
When by feeding on air, one can make a good 
dinner ! 



The young people, dreaming of "love in a cottage," 
No table will need, with its messes of potage; 
They may dine upon dew-drops, and murmur sweet 

speeches. 
Nor learn the stern lessons that Poverty teaches. 

When board-bills are nowhere, how authors will 

write ! 
What essays, what romance, what rhyme they'll 

' indite ! 
The world will groan under a surplus of books, 
A burden as great as an army of cooks. 

Good news for the lazy, once sighing and shirking; 
Since now there will be so much less need of 
working. 



FASTING. 219 

They can rest from the burden and heat of the day, 
Like the bears when they're sleeping the winter 
away. 

Is the world to grow wise with a forty days' wonder? 
Could a Solomon see " A new thing the sun under?" 
Shall we live, and be happy, and never get thinner, 
When we have outlasted all craving for dinner ? 



220 THE LITTLE COUSIN. 



THE LITTLE COUSIN, 

ROBERT! he is my little friend 
Whose presence brings me joy. 
He flatters me whene'er he speaks 
And calls me " Cousin Loy." 

Robert is most affectionate, 

And e'er doth sunshine bring ; 

He is as sweet and winsome as 
The violet breath of Spring. 

He learns so readily, it seems. 
Some day he must be wise; 

I often see a thoughtful look 
Within his splendid eyes. 

There is no fairer flower, I think. 

In all this budding May; 
If I could speak one-half his charms. 

How much I'd have to say. 



THE LITTLE COUSIN. 221 

No rose that blooms upon its bough, 

Is richer than his cheek ; 
How sweet are the imperfect words 

That he has learned to speak. 

The broken speech of prattling lips, 
Breathed forth in artless tones, 

Ah, this is a resistless charm 
That happy childhood owns. 

Robert's small feet, in tiny shoes, 

Go rushing here and there ; 
His step has so much buoyancy 

He seems to tread on air. 

O, scarcely more than two brief years 

His happy life has run ; 
And yet, my little Patterfoot, 

How many hearts you've won ! 



222 MY MOTHER. 



MY MOTHER. 



IF rhymes and flowers, her favorite flowers, 
Would fitly match each other, 
I'd gladly bring a little song, 
As tribute to my Mother. 

I'd praise her could I find some rhymes 
Sweet as her much-loved roses ; 

O, how she blessed those years of mine 
Where childhood's joy reposes ! 

If I could only find some words 

As fair and fresh as daisies, 
I soon would weave a wreath of verse. 

All glow'ing with her praises. 

If I could only find some words 

As rich as sunset's splendor, 
I'd praise my Mother, as I pray 

All blessings to attend her ! 



TRANSCENDENT 



223 



TRANSCENDENT. 

I ^HE sweetest poems are unpenned, 
J- The best thoughts are untold, 
The fairest flowers that e'er are seen 
Spring not from earthly mold. 

The finest music ever heard 

Is prisoned in no staff, 
It comes in dreams — the nectar sweet, 

Of which immortals quafT ! 



224 RED ROSES. 

RED ROSES. 

A Dream. 

WITHIN the misty hour of morn, 
She had a pleasant dream, 
She saw upon a lovely lawn, 
Most rare, red roses gleam. 

She found a basket, with these flowers 
She filled it, save one place, 

And this, one sweet ungathered rose 
She thought would fitly grace. 

Just then a quick, impatient rap 
Came sounding on the door — 

Alas, alas, those roses red. 
She'll grasp, ah, nevermore. 

The vision is quite true to life, 

The heart must ever ache 
To miss some roses from its wreath — 

The fairest dream must break ! 



THE BATTLEMENTED HOUSE. 225 



THE BATTLEMENTED HOUSE. 

UPON a lonely cross-road stands 
The battlemented house, 
And long it hath been tenantless, 
Save by some rat, or mouse. 

How grimly stand these olden walls, 
Which not a tree doth screen ; 

And from these windows, curtainless. 
No neighbor's house is seen. 

The spider spins across the sash 

Its web of simple lace ; 
Its meshes, woven cunningly. 

No hand doth here efface. 



226 THE BATTLEMENTED HOUSE. 

A sluggish riv^er rolleth on, 

Beyond this mansion drear, 

Whose marshy and miasmal banks 
Yield agues every year. 



These fields seem blighted, weeds and burrs 
And stones their space do fill ; 

This land has known so much neglect 
It does not pay to till. 



On some lone nights it has been said, 

Strange lights gleam through the pane, 

Strange, spectral lights, seen from afar. 
Which no one can explain ! 



If any venturous footstep dare 
To cross that threshold drear, 

The nerves at once are seized upon 
By a resistless fear ! 



THE^ BATTLEMENTED HOUSE. 

But then a house that's tenantless 
Is e'er a lonely place ; 

It is the human form that gives 
To each abode its srrace. 



Some one, perchance, beneath yon roof, 
Hath languished long in pain; 

Who strove for health, that blessed boon. 
And prayed for it in vain. 



Some lonely dweller here, perhaps, 
Hath shed regretful tears. 

Dreaming of some beloved face 
That nevermore appears. 



Some scolding wife, perchance, did here 
Her tongue's fierce warfare wield. 

Who plagued her husband more than all 
The thistles of his field ! 



'.Zj 



228 THE BATTLEMENTED HOUSE. 

Did not some tyrant husband here 
Oppress the household band ? 

Did not some thriftless farmer leave 
These weeds upon the land ? 

Who knows but those dim, upper rooms, 

Impress of crime do bear ! 
Would not some phantom clutch at you. 

If you passed up the stair? 

Could we compel Psychology's 
Most strange, interior state, 

This house, through every beam and brick, 
Its history could relate ! 



ROSEMARY. 



229 



ROSEMARY. 

"There's rosemary, that's for remembrance." 

— Shakespcan, 

T T PON a summer, long ago, 
^^ — I looked upon her face ; 
'Twas radiant in its joyousness, 
And in its youthful grace. 

She stood beneath a locust tree, 

Its blossoms, honey-sweet, 
And on the greensward tiny blooms 

Bent lightly to her feet. 

She twirled a dainty parasol, 

Rose-lined and tipped with pearl ; 

And well a wreathed and jaunty hat 
Became the handsome sfirl 



2T,0 ROSEMARY. 

The sweet, south wind just faintly swayed 
The light scarf round her thrown, 

And waved the hiac shrub which clasped 
Her shadow to its own. 

Upon her hand, slender and small, 

And as the lilies, white, 
We saw the new, engagement ring 

Glow in prismatic light. 

Just then a bird's rejoicing song 
Burst from a trembling spray, 

And set to most delicious trills, 
Her words and laughter gay. 

Almost I hear her gladsome voice, 

As in the olden days, 
And talk with her, again, as when 

I loved her winning ways. 

Her hours were like the butterfly's 
As free from toil and care ; 

Her hopes were like the thistle-down 
Upborne by summer air. 



ROSEMARY. 23 1 

Lovely, and loved, crowned with the grace 

Of Summer's golden prime, 
She's but a Dream of Memory now, 

Framed in this simple rhyme. 



A grassy billow o'er her face 

Forevermore is prest, 
And Life's full share of grief and care, 

She found before that rest. 



232 LULU AND WILL, 



LULU AND WILL. 

i i T LOVE you, Lulu!" her lover said — 

A A little drooped her beautiful head, 
A moment she waited, and did not speak, 
Though a tell-tale blush was on her cheek. 

Still she drooped her beautiful head. 
" I like you, Will !" at length she said. 
" Li'ke me ! The words are poor and cold \ 
Friendship is silver, but love is gold. 

" Friendship may last perchance but a day. 
But love like mine endureth for aye !" 
She did not speak, yet her eyes then told 
" That speech is silver, but silence is gold.' 



CLOUD-LAND. 233 



CLOUD-LAND. 

THERE is a castle that doth build 
Its towers against the sky ; 
Its casements are exceeding rich 
With many a lovely dye. 

Its walls are hung with tapestries 
That are most fine and rare, 

A very stately mansion seems 
This castle in the air. 

A soft and dreamy atmosphere 

About it sheds its calm ; 
Does there not grow within its bowers 

The tropic rose and palm ? 

It hath soft couches, pearly white. 

Shining so far away ; 
Could not one lie on them at ease, 

And dream away the day? 



CLOUD-LAND. 

Dreaming of each delightful thing 
That we have ever heard, 

Dreaming of many a pleasant song, 
And many a pleasant word. 

Dreaming of each enchanting scene 

That ever met our eyes ; 
Dreaming of happy hours on earth, 

And hours in Paradise ! 

Ah, here doth lie the lotus land, 
The land of pleasant dreams ; 

And here a mighty canvas glows 
With a Great Painter's themes ! 

Mortal, with head bowed to the earth, 

Intent on toil and care. 
Look up, enjoy your heritage ! 

This castle in the air ! 



TICK TACK. 235 



TICK TACK. 

THE pendulum, never weary, moves, 
And measures off the time ; 
It swingeth here, it swingeth there, 
And hark ! the hour doth chime. 



It marks with an impassive hand 
The great events of time, 

Unto its baton, hours march on, 
Processional — sublime ! 



Undreaming of romance, it brings 
The hour when lovers meet, 

Then like a reckless spendthrift flings 
Away those moments sweet. 



236 TICK TACK. 

Oh, pendulum, thine every swing 
Doth pilfer from life's span ; 

Time runs against us a great race, 
Oft checking what we plan. 

Tick tack, tick tack, how swiftly glide 
Life's golden sands away ; 

Tick tack, tick tack, 'tis wonderful 
How quickly goes a day ! 



PEACOCKS ANJ) LILIES. 237 



PEACOCKS AND LILIES. 

" Remember that the most beautiful things in the world are the 
most useless; peacocks and lilies, for instance; at least I suppose 
this quill I hold in my hand writes better than a peacock's would, 
and the peasants of Vevay, whose fields in spring time are as white 

with lilies as the Dent du Midi is with its snow, told me the hay was 
none the belter for them." — Ritskin. 

IN one sense useless, in another not, 
Heaven doth a mission unto each allot ; 
The lilies with their snowy petals reach 
To one great truth the pulpits scarcely teach ; — 
'Tis this, — the perfume that within them lies, 
No chemist ever yet could analyze ; 
(And so the same of all the other flowers 
Whose odors breathe upon the summer hours;) 
This perfume made of particles so rare, 
So sweetly gliding through the grosser air, 
Tells of the finer worlds we do not see, 
And makes of Heaven a blessed verity! 
Ay, the white lilies show with one accord 
How sweet a thing it is to praise the Lord ! 



238 -^ PEACOCKS AND LILIES. 

Through the bright courts of Solomon's proud reign. 

Queen Sheba never dragged so gay a train 

As the vain peacock with its feathers spread, 

(3'er which transcendent coloring is shed ; 

And here again an utterance we meet — ■ 

'Tis one that nature often doth repeat — 

That doth reveal the bounties of that Hand 

That hath the dull cloud with the rainbow spanned. 

That dyes the plumage of all radiant birds 

So richly they are unexpressed by words; 

That paints the flowers upspringing to the sight. 

In tints which ever dazzle and delight ; 

Do not these, all, as if with one accord, 

Make it an easy thing to praise the Lord ? 

Exceeding beauty, and exceeding grace. 

In His great gift of colors we can trace! 



THE LOOM. 239 



THE LOOM. 

THERE is a very wondrous loom 
Whose shuttles swiftly fly, 
And sometimes it doth hide its web 
From every human eye. 

Sometimes it weaves the noblest deeds, 

Through purposes sublime ; 
Sometimes it weaves the basest thoughts, 

Which culminate in crime. 

Sometimes beneath a lowly roof 

It golden tissue weaves ; 
As Burns encrowns his native land 

With his poetic leaves. 



240 THE LOOM. 

And, day by day, this strange loom plies 
Its shuttles of swift thought ; 

And, oh, what mystery in it lies! 
What wonders it hath wrought ! 

This loom is moved by finer force 

Than steam can ever find ; 
We do not doubt its One Great Source ! 

This loom, you see, is Mind! 



OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS, 24I 

OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS. 

The Sweet Pea and the Sweet Clover. 

SWEET Pea and Sweet Clover, 
One steadfast, one rover, 
Grow half the world over, 
And gladden the sight ; 
Both are very pretty, 

One pink, and one white ; 
And both are so fragrant 
They give rare delight. 

In a little poke bonnet-, 
No trimming upon it, 
Sweet as a love sonnet, 

She climbs to low eaves ; 
The Sweet Pea so pretty 

'Mid palest green leaves, 
O'er twigs and dry branches 

A mantle she weaves. 



242 OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS. 

Up towards the sky's shining 
Her tendrils are twining, 
As if by designing 

The vine to upHft ; 
She seemeth upreaching 

Unto the blue rift, 
Where great clouds are- sailing. 

White as the snow's drift. 

In old linen presses, 
Which lavender blesses, 
Sweet Clover confesses 

Her presence, so fair ; 
She still, though long gathered. 

Sweet savor doth bear, 
As a dream of spice wardens 

She flings on the air ! 

Sweet Pea, and Sweet Clover, 
One steadfast, one rover. 
Grow half the world over. 



OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS. 243 

As freely as weeds. 
(As freely and hardy 

As sedges and reeds.) 
Like the world's common kindness, 

And many good deeds. 

Oh, their modest faces 
Do make humble places 
Bloom out with new graces ; 

They sweeten the air. 
And still in their meekness 

They ask little care ; 
And make the lone homestead 

Attractive and fair. 



244 GOLD. 



GOLD. 



GOLD is the magnet that doth draw all things 
Unto itself, it hath such wondrous sway ; 
Its power keeps pace with tliat of mighty kings, 
It ruled the past, it rules the world to-day. 

O, how the miser loves the shining ore, 

The only thing at which his cold eye gleams, 

He always wishes that his gains were more. 
Gold, gold alone doth fill liis waking dreams. 

And see, the spendthrift hath an equal greed 
To grasp the glowing fruitage of the mine ; 

Ay, gold, bright gold, he ever seems to need, 
Haply he buys fast horses or rich wine. 

The politician loves the shining ore. 

He needs it if he would an office hold ; 

And such a state of things we must deplore. 
Can freedom live when votes are bought and sold ? 



GOLD. 245 

And the grave scholar loves the shining ore, 
It brings him leisure, and it buys rare books. 

It gives a summer by the fair sea-shore, 
Or on the hill-side, by its babbling brooks. 

Gold sometimes doth decide the lady's choice, 
She weds a man that's odious to her sight. 

Because, rich rooms do her proud heart rejoice. 
And sealskin sacques are warm, and diamonds 
briirht. 



Gold cannot buy the lofty, steadfast soul, 
This from its clutches may be set apart! 

Free thought, fresh air, and sunlight's yellow scroll. 
Exist as priceless, gladdening the heart ! 

Gold is the Elf-king of a fairy tale. 

It cleaves the mountain, builds the lofty dome. 
It sends the steam-car through the lonely vale, 

And bu)-s the daily comforts of our home. 



246 GOLD. 

Gold threads the ocean with electric wire, 

For capital the cable must sustain ; 
Gold prompts inventors greatly to aspire, 

Gold works the mines, where toil means risk 
and pain. . 

Gold builds great ships, which have the ocean 
crossed, 

Ships which have dared to meet the angry wave, 
Ships which have been like fragile egg-shell tossed, 

When many have foreseen a watery grave. 

Gold prompts the artists toiling, day by day, 
Likewise the artisans, that sturdy band ; 

It keeps machinery in its constant play. 

And buys the harvests, ripening o'er the land. 

There comes a time when love of gold must fail. 
When brain and hand no more for it shall try, 

'Tis when closed eyelids lie so cold and pale, 
When mute lips ask no more what gold shall buy ! 



THE TREE. 247 



THE TREE. 

A PARTHENON it is 'mongst other trees, 
It hath such perfect symmetry of form. 
A hving creature 'tis, for in the breeze 

It cloth rejoice. It trembles in the storm. 
And when the sunshine is around it rolled, 

And birds call there, as from a minaret, 
It is a volume bound in green and gold. 

With all its verse to richest music set. 
It is a book that Science doth compose 

Better than any in the scholar's list, 
And taking in its beauty, thought outgoes 

Back to primeval age, and fiery mist. 
As in its cool, green depth of leaves we look, 
We must admire the Author of the book ! 



248 VENICE. 



VENICE. 

RUSKIN, 'tis said, wished Albion to buy 
Fair Venice, as a Treasury of Art ; 
The Adriatic's pride, and once the mart 

Where merchant princes held their heads so high. 
Our English friend doth here much taste display, 

He sought from slow, but sure decline to save 

The stately facade, the grand architrave, 
For all the tourists of a future day. 
What splendor in this city one may see, 

What wondrous piles of " strength on lightness 
built," 
Where Painting moves with hand so strong and free, 

Where Architecture goes for Fame full tilt. 
Better to win a city, gold outpoured, 
Than the old way that gained it by the sword. 



MOTH AND FLAME. 249 



MOTH AND FLAME. 

DUN-COLORED Moth, still rushing round 
the flame, 

Say are \'ou bent on suicide to-night? 

Did some one lure your lo\'er from your sight ? 
Some butterfly, perhaps, that you could name. 
Whom you have envied for her gaudy dress. 

And splendid beauty, as she passed you by, 

And left you weary of the earth and sky, 
Because you were not dowered with loveliness! 
Or, only seems the flame a brilliant prize, 

Oh, trembling Moth, you long have wished to 
gain ? 
As gold and fame held up to human eyes, 

Tempt us to weary striving, oft in vain. 
Poor insect, you will scorch your wings, 1 say, 
Ambition burns our joys up just this way. 



250 GOLD, MARBLE, PURPLE. 



GOLD, MARBLE, PURPLE. 

says a French author,* "I 



i i^T^HREE things," 
JL admire. 



Gold, marble, purple, these in richest gleams, 
These, brilliance, mass, 'and color, fill my dreams, 

And build the ideal palace I desire." 

Monsieur, in these aesthetic tastes you claim 
The whole world shares. Behold, in ancient Rome, 
The gilded chariot, and the marble dome, 

And Tyrian purple robes, were prized the same. 

To-day in crowded marts, through nations wide, 
Men toil, and scheme, sometimes in basest ways, 

For these three aids to luxury and pride, 

To build the palace for their "winged days." 

Gold, marble, purple, let us sing their worth, 

When rightly won, to glorify the earth. 



^Theophile Gautier. 



WHITE SATIN. 2$ I 



WHITE SATIN. 

O fairer fabric ever left the loom 

Than this, with garniture of gems and 
flowers, 

It lends its snowy sheen to gay, glad hours, 
Its lilied lustre to some gorgeous room. 
It giveth to the bride her rich attire. 

It glistens round the actress on the stage. 

In the romantic scenes of every age, 
Clothing the heroines we so admire. 
Its pearly folds we saw in palace halls, 

In stories that we read in early days, 
When o'er our life that wondrous glamour falls 

Which like the morning dew-drop never stays. 
Ah, then, in youth, Hope was our constant guest. 
Fair as some princess in white satin drest. 



252 THE GOLDEN VIOLET. 



THE GOLDEN VIOLET. 

THERE was a tourney, once, in ancient days, 
In Acquataine, a most romantic clime, 

Where Richard Caeur de Leon dwelt sometime, 
And where the minstrels breathed their sweetest 

lays. 
'Twas not a contest waged with shield and lance, 

But knights and troubadours from devious ways, 

Here met, each striving for the poet's bays, 
Each seeking some fair dame's approving glance, 
This is a joust for literary fame, 

Ah, here "The pen is mightier than the sword," 
And he whose verse is best may proudly claim, 

Whatever prize the judges may award. 
Most lovely is the guerdon they have set. 
The victor wins a gold-wrought violet. 



AD(3LPHINE. 25; 



ADOLPHINE. 

ADOLPHINE! 'Tis, a name we seldom hear, 
Though in romances it hath been enrolled ; 
It is a name falls sweetly on my ear 

As some glad song that doth rare sweetness hold. 
It nameth one so gentle, and so good. 

That all who know her can but give her praise. 
Oft have I roved with her through field and wood, 

And gathered buds and flowers in by-gone days. 
The trees are gleaming now with Autumn's gold. 

The leaves are dropping through the hazy air. 
Yet thought goes back to Summer days of old. 

And to the friend that made those days so fair ! 
This name must e'er remind me, till life's close, 
Of Childhood's dreams, and hopes coulcur de rose. 



254 APPRIX'IATIOX, 



APPRECIATION. 

NI-'.XT to the gift empowering to create 
Beaut}- and grandeur in the world of art. 
The next, I hold, is to appreciate. 

And clasp another's triumph to one's heart. 
What though I sadly lack creative skill, 

I stand a worshiper at Beauty's shrine, 
And all of excellence my soul doth fill 

With such a rapture that life seems divine. 
By marble, canvas, or the printed page, 

Or howsoever genius is expressed, 
I see the perfect work endow the age, 

And breathing forth its praise my soul is blessed. 
What though the masterpiece knows not my hand, 
If I appreciate, and understand. 



THE TWO BUILDERS. 255 



THE TWO BUILDERS. 

Cardinal Wolsey and Shakespeare. 
I. 

LO ! Cardinal Wolsey with ambitious mind, 
And sumptuous taste, a palace doth create, 

In which he lives with more than regal state, 
Ere yet his great prosperity declined. 
Some years pass on, when forth from Avon came 

A youth, who yet had known but adverse fate, 

A destined builder, none shall lightly rate, 
W^ho built with words, not stones, great works of 

fame. 
While Hampton Court is but a lonely pile, 

Where the court pensioners may now reside, 
This poet's themes, wrought out in grandest style. 

Grow more and more in all the wide world's pride. 
Wolsey's creation waiteth slow decay. 

But Shakespeare's works in splendor live for aye! 



256 THE TWO BUILDERS. 

II. 

Mind triumphs over matter in all things, 
' And Shakespeare's mind our interest enthralls 

More than does Hampton Court with spacious 
halls, 
Once the proud home of Cardinal and kings. 
In the famed play see Wolsey's form defined; 

He left the palace, but on printed page 

He'll live and speak in every clime and age. 
When Hampton Court shall " leave no rack behind." 
Words may have strength far more than massive 
walls, 

x\nd grandeur far beyond the castled seat, 
And see how Stratford-upon-Avon calls 

Unto its shrine such crowds of pilgrim feet ! 
Oh, Shakespeare's fame, like warriors of old, 
Seems borne abroad in chariot of gold ! 



GHOSTS OP' THE GOTHIC HALL. 257 



GHOSTS OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 

THE white clouds ripened in the summer's 
day 

To purple hues their fruitage gave in rain; 
And as the sun looked forth, with laughing ray. 

A rainbow told its promise o'er again. 
Another Venus from the waters sprung 

In zone-bright beauty, it doth glad the eye ; 
It is a banner that aloft is hung, 

A flower-bank blooming richly in the sky ; 
It is a bird with broad and outspread wings, 

With plumage brilliant as the tropics hold, 
That to the clouds as unto foliage clings ; 

It is a jewel mine, with gems untold. 
And where its bended pathway meets the ground, 
There, children think, rare treasures could be found. 



•58 GHOSTS OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 



Sweet spectre of the sunbeam ! Thou art known 

To haunt the prison's gothic hall for aye; 
Where cascades murmur their grand monotone, 

The Rainbow sets its crown upon the spray. 
The Iris stains " The windows of the deep," 

It is a portal to the dome of light, 
A stairway, bright as Jacob saw in sleep. 

When angels thronged upon his charmed sight ! 
Not lovelier those ;mgel guests, I ween, 

Than these fair Colors, straying hand in hand, 
The daughters they of Light, that white-robed 
Queen, 

Our love and admiration they command. 
As each in her insignia aglow. 
They come some royal largess to bestow. 



GHOSTS OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 259 



The boldest, brightest, haughtiest of the rays, 

Beams on us now in her majestic guise, 
For she is fain to fix our wandering o-aze 

Upon the paths where her dominion Hes. 
" My name is Red," she cries in accents clear, 

" I'm like an eagle's flight, that's swift and strong, 
I'm full of life, and daring, and of cheer, 

I'm like the trumpet's blare, the martial song. 
And where the lightning shows his athlete form, 

A dauntless warrior, with a blazing shield. 
There my escutcheon glows with lustre warm, 

In gules that cluster on an azure field. 
Where cities crumble 'neath devouring fire, 
Those fierce flames, ' crying woe,' I do attire. 



26o GHOSTS OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 



" I give a ruddy sparkle to the hearth, 

The hearth which smihn"; faces slather round. 
To wing the wintr}- evening with their mirth, 

Where household cheer and comfort so abound. 
I think the crimson satin looks the best 

For costly furniture and curtain's fold ; 
I give to Poesy, b\' Wealth caressed, 

Books bound in red with arabesques of gold. 
And when the revels of the world's glad time 

Are held within the old, wainscoted hall, 
And bells peal out a merry Christmas chime. 

And mistletoe hangs gayly on the wall. 
When wassail-cup goes round with spicy flow, 

I lend the hollv berries their bright crlow. 



(HIOSTS OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 26 1 



" I give gay streamers to the ocean's breeze, 
So straining eyes may catch their ghmpse afar, 
And welcome loved ones coming o'er the seas, 

'Neath some heraldic quartering or bar. 
I paint proud flags that float to martial strains, 

Hateful mine office when with armed hand 
I pour the life blood o'er the battle plains. 

As licensed Murder ravages the land ! 
Far rather would I kiss the sleeping child, 

And paint the health-hues on its tender cheek. 
As hovers near its earthly guardian, mild. 

Heart rich with feelings words may never speak ! 
Angels for these keep watch and ward above. 
So sw^eet and sacred is a Mother's love. 



262 GHOSTS OF THE GOIHIC HALL. 



" Void of my glow, the sculptor's lines are cold, 

And awe-inspiring in their pallid grace; 
But see Apelles' pencil well hath told 

The bloom and brilliance of a sunny face. 
I tint the brow, so delicately veined, 

With flitting blushes, so Aurora fair. 
With rose-tipped fingers, and robe saffron-stained, 

Pours her refulgence richly on the air. 
I make the wit-and-wisdom-breathing lip, 

The smiling lip where honied accents dwell, 
Glow like red petals, which the bee doth sip. 

Make its curves dainty as a pink-lined shell. 
Sweet murmurs both to lip and shell belong. 
This hints the Nereid's, that the Seraph's song! 



GHOSTS OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 263 



" At Beauty's toilet, for the handmaid's art, 

I and my sisters all do scarce suffice ; 
I bring the sea-wrought coral for my part. 

And rubies costing e'en a city's price. 
And like a very Proteus I feel, 

As oft I change myself from shade to shade, 
From faintest carmine to deep cochineal, 

To tint the textures that are forth arrayed. 
What silken folds gleam, flame-hued, to my hand. 

What 'broidered sashes, lovely plumes and flowers, 
And hueless diamonds, at my command. 

Flash out, as do the glow-worms, fiery showers. 
To rustic belle bright ribbon I supply, 
Meshed in dark curls, to lure a lover's eye. 



264 GHOSTS "OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 



" How the patrician's vestments brightened Rome 

With scarlet, vaunted as the Tyrian dye ; 
They glowed 'neath marble colonade and dome, 

And where the victor's car went flashing by. 
And like the victor, bay-crowned and elate, 

I was a favorite of all festal hours. 
I gave its purple to the kingly state, 

And hung my canopies o'er gilded bowers. 
Likewise o'er banquet-board at Pomp's desire, 

O'er gold and myrrhine cups, which garlands bind, 
O'er poet striking, there from thrilling lyre 

Such fame as proves the deathlessness of mind ! 
Erst as down Cydnus Cleopatra sails. 
My purple pennons perfume all the gales. 



GHOSTS OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 265 



" I rouge the peach in her gay, velvet suit, 

I die the grape juice, and pomegranate's seed, 
Tinting the berries, and the ripened fruit, 

That kindly minister to human need. 
I give to Autumn's leaves their hectic flush, 

I give to many a flower its ruddy glow, 
I lend the rose her most enchanting blush, 

I make the sunset its vermilion show, 
I brightly streak, O, many a crest and wing 

For feathered tribes, whose pathway is o'erhead ; 
And o'er the trout a " crimson hail " I fling, 

I dye the moon, when rising round and red. 
I paint the linchen's little red-brimmed cup. 
From which the frolic fairies nightly sup." 



266 GHOSTS OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 



Another color speaks, " My name is Blue, 

Over the sea's unrestful waves I roam ; 
O, I am calm, and cool, and ever true, 

I grandly paint tiie sky's far-reaching dome, 
I dye the smoke that hovers o'er the town, 

That busy hive, that bustling haunt of men, 
I tinge the mountain mist that settles down 

O'er some lone hamlet, or untrodden glen. 
I glow as azure in heraldic shields, 

Anear the argent, or the gules' warm glow. 
And the wild aster of the lonely fields 

Doth bear me on where weedy pathways go. 
A greenish blue is vegetable mold. 
That doth a microscopic forest hold. 



GHOSTS OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 26; 



" In years ago how Indians loved blue beads 

And gave broad acres for their paltry worth ! 
So oft the white man gained his title deeds. 

How greed doth push the red man from the 
earth ! 
I tint the warrior's sword and shining lance, 

I dye the brooks that o'er the meadows gleam, 
I tint the flower-de-luce, the pride of France, 

I paint the violet, sweet as lover's dream. 
I clothe the mountains with ' enchantment's hue,' 

I sometimes knot a ribbon for blonde hair. 
The torquoise and the sapphire are in blue, 

And books oft-times my livery do wear. 
O'er purple grape and plum there lies my bloom^ 
The mansion prides itself in the blue room." 



2.68 GHOSTS OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 



Says Yellow, " O, I paint such glowing flowers, 

Likewise the ripened fruit of many a land ; 
I flush the saffron morn, the sunset bovvers, 

And oft I lie upon the shining sand. 
I glow in amber, give the pollen's stain, 

Paint the canary and the butterfly, 
As also do I paint the rippling grain. 

And honey that in honeycomb doth lie. 
I tint the gold in its alluring guise, 

'Till poets speak of it in dulcet rhyme, 
It is too tempting oft to mortal eyes, 

A bribe that's understood in every clime. 
I gild the sunshine of the summer days. 
That makes the world so lovely to your gaze. 



GHOSTS OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 269 



" I dress the Sunflower in her gaudy robe, 

The Sunflower, dear unto aesthetic taste; 
I claim the restless goldfish in its globe, 

I stain the gorse upon the mountain waste. 
I lurk, dull-hued, within the sandal wood, 

Whose lace-like carvings make the dainty fan ; 
I sometimes tint the hen's soft, downy brood, 

I vein the lacquer-work that's of Japan. 
I gleam, as golden threads, in splendid shawls, 

And other Orient fabrics wrought with pride ; 
My sheen is lovely where the sunlight falls 

Upon the peacock's feathers, brilliant-eyed. 
The oak and other trees I do enfold, 
When Autumn damaskeens them with his gold." 



70 GHOSTS OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 



Green speaks, " O, well I mantle hill and dale, 

My soothing ray is of the greatest worth ; 
Did I not fill my place the sight would fail, 

None but the blind were dwellers of the earth ! 
I paint the nodding fern, the ancient tree, 

I dye the moss that hideth well decay, 
The ivy that o'er ruins springs so free. 

And all the herbage spreading far away. 
What is more lovely than the stately grove ? 

The sunlight on its boughs — its dappled stems, 
In owning trees there should be pride above 

That in collection of the rarest gems. 
Do not the Dryads haunt the sylvan shade, 
And whisper in each murmur that is made? 



GHOSTS OF THE GOTHIC HALL. 2/1 



" Mortal, see how the Great and Steadfast One, 

In preparation for the home of man, 
Doth build a globe and light it from the sun, 

More easily than you the atom scan. 
He makes the mountain and the grassy plain, 

And spreads o'er all the varying shades of 
green — " 
Just here a cloud came pattering in rain. 

And a bright rainbow arched above the scene ! 
Here all the colors came, with clasping hands. 

The seven sisters in their garments fine. 
They stood and smiled, as each our gaze commands. 

And held aloft " a promise and a sign." 
Then forth they strayed into their home of light, 
As the fair rainbow fades upon the sight. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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